Forever's a Long Time
by coco-nut90
Summary: Obsession is a form of love, sort of. Poor Harry: he is trying to pass his NEWTS, learning to be an assassin, and now Tom Riddle is acting strange. AU: Voldemort-won-the-war, Malfoys-adopt-Harry, Grey!Harry. Mentor!Tom. Slash. Tom/Harry.
1. The Beginning

**Summary:**

In a different world, where Neville is the prophetical child and Voldemort conquered Britain years ago, Harry Potter lost his parents and grew up jaded, lonely and angry. Revenge was the only thing that mattered to him. But it was also unattainable, because the whole British government was on his to-kill list: notable Death Eaters like Barty Crouch Jr, Bellatrix Lestrange, Terrence Yaxley and even the Dark King himself, Lord Voldemort.

So he struck a deal with the devil. Well, not with the devil exactly, but with a being— a man who lived in the diary— named Tom Riddle. Tom, who possessed his adopted brother Draco Malfoy, who tricked Harry into a vassalage oath, who trained Harry to become an assassin, and who, despite his cruelty and games, had become the only thing that anchors Harry to sanity.

In his seventh year at Hogwarts, Harry experienced many things— murder, betrayal, adventure, victory and war. What he didn't expect, though, was finding love in the unlikeliest place.

Warning: Slash

_/PAST/ _: flashback scenes

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Whenever Harry Potter Malfoy reflected back on his life, he wished he was dead.

Off course, that was why he always tries not to think about it. _His life, that is._

Because, sadly, he didn't really have one. _A life. A real life, one that is worth living, a happy one, a safe one, a normal one._ No matter how he wished for it. _No._ All he had experienced was a series of terrible, unfortunate events. A Shakespearean tragedy dressed in blood and gore, and magic so dark that souls are ripped apart.

_All the world's a fucking gladiatorial stage, and all the men and women merely waits their turn_ _— to kill or be killed._

In a corner of the Slytherin dormitory, deep in the heart of Hogwarts, Harry turned over in his bed and buried him face in his pillow. His scar was hurting all day, which was never a good sign.

Someone was probably going to die.

Harry wished it was him.

Harry signed. It was best not think about it. _The future, that is_. Because he didn't have one.

_Oh yes_. _Now, you may ask, what is he talking about?_

After all, he was young, rich, a good-looking boy and a powerful wizard. He was the captain of the Slytherin quidditch team, a good student, popular and well-respected among his peers. He was the adapted son of Lucius Malfoy, the British treasury secretary, and the adapted brother of Draco Malfoy, the influential Head Boy, and he was the future heir to the illustrious Potter line.

_Future?_ He should have a future so bright that the sun fades by comparison. He should have a future so bright that he ought to party every night in celebration and lie with a different girl every week.

_He should be happy._

Harry scoffed. If you only knew, then you'd wish you were dead too.

Harry shut his eyes and tried to drift asleep. He needed to sleep. He needed to have his strength and wits about him tomorrow, to deal with Tom. That bastard who never leaves him alone.

So, sleep away.

It was just that the nightmares never stop.

_Never._

Because he was the boy-who-remembers.

He would always remember that day. _That beginning_. The day that everything was taken from him; the day that Harry Potter died; the day that a young boy, who lost everything, who willingly forsook the world, swore to destroy the Dark Lord Voldemort and the whole British government.

* * *

_/PAST/_

"Happy birthday, honey," said Lily Potter cheerfully as she kissed Harry on the forehead. "How old is my little hero today?"

"Six!" shouted little Harry chirpily, and he hugged his mother over a pile of presents. "Can I _please, please_ open my presents now? Oh please mummy, please!"

"Now, prongslet. You know the rules," replied James Potter as he peered at his son from behind the Daily Prophet. His hair was messier than usually.

"No presents until the party. You'll have to wait for our guests."

Harry pouted just as his mother levitated things onto the dining table—plates, drinks, his birthday cake with its magical exploding candles.

"BUT... it's almost time!" Harry turned his big, green eyes toward his father. "I'll just open one, then? _Oh Please_!"

James set down his newspaper, the August 1st edition of the Daily Prophet. Diagon Alley was burning on its cover under the headline _"Muggle-born Registration Act riot turns violent: suspected Order of Phoenix sabotage kills three in a deadly blast_".

He leaned toward Harry.

His father had a wicked grin on his face.

"No presents until the party. Sirius, Remus and Peter will be here in a minute. Wanna guess what uncle Sirius got ya?" James wiggled his eye-brow and made a swooshing motion with his hand.

"YES! A broom?" Harry gasped and jumped onto his chair. His wide, toothy grin was just like his father's.

"Oh wow! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you!"

Lily rolled her eyes, but suppressed a smile amidst the boisterous laughter of her husband.

She reached down to straighten his tie, and frowned when she noticed the snake and skull symbol on his robe – the symbol of the Ministry of Magic. Then, all the happiness seeped out of her.

She shuddered unconsciously. Oh, how she hated that place. How she hated thinking about her James working there every day— working for him, that monster— the Dark Lord Voldemort.

It had been five years since Voldemort came to power and the mighty Order of Phoenix had fallen. The Dark Lord wasted no time in transforming the wizarding world into his own twisted, rigid, fearful society that worshipped blood-purity and hated people like her... _The mudbloods._

And what success he had.

Upon sizing power, the Dark Lord promptly striped everything in the old Ministry of Magic. He fired everyone (and killed many as well) and inserted his Death Eater into every crevice of the government. They brought with them a new hierarchy—one with military efficiency and precision, but, most importantly, one with uttermost devotion to the Slytherin Heir and his ideology.

Lily always thought it was creepy how much the Death Eaters loved their leader. Their devotion wasn't just limited to pretence, brought on by ambitions and fears— which was the public's view of the Dark Lord— Oh no, the Death Eaters honestly revered him and his stupid, bigoted ideology.

Those pure-bloods loved their leaders so much that they didn't even protest when the Dark Lord decided to do away with many ancient wizarding laws to make his own.

The Muggle-born Registration Act was one such a new law— an atrocious and bigoted thing— and Lily was sure it was just the tip of the iceberg.

Lily didn't know what the Dark Lord could've promised the pure-bloods. Yet, it was impressive how quickly he managed to convince these ancient and powerful houses to forgo tradition. Then, Voldemort's new administration made their first major decreed. A manoeuvre so brilliant that it even dazzled and surprised her.

Voldemort convinced —or more likely forced— rich and powerful pure-bloods to open up their wallets. He used that money to hired many people for his new government and had his Death Eaters indoctrinate them properly. He opened up a propaganda department and imported Muggle's way of accounting. _Oh, the irony!_ The momentary boost in employment was enough to jump start the recovery and boost morals.

In one short year, the economy had recovered and many war-torn wizarding communities were rebuilt. The new riches and prosperity made people forget the past... and made them blind.

That was when Lily realized how out-dated and corrupt the old ministry of magic really was. And that was when she finally — finally, after years— realized the war had truly ended.

It made her sad.

_And fearful._

Fearful not just for herself, for she had lost her job as a Ward Master at Gringotts Wizarding Bank following the Muggle-born act.

No, she feared for her son. _For her Harry._

Feared for the world Harry will live in. Feared that Harry will grow up to believe what he reads in the papers; to believe what they teach in the schools; and, one day, to believe that her blood is as dirty and shameful as they tell him.

Lily sighed as she patted her sons' head absently.

Yet, on some level, she had to admit that Voldemort hadn't been as cruel as she had thought.

The Dark Lord didn't order for immediate excursion of all muggle-borns. He understood that they were, in fact, necessary, especially given the small size of wizarding communities. Eventually, he even put provisions in the Muggle-born Act to allow for "high-performance muggle-borns to arisen above their ancestry and to be reward with opportunity for equal citizenship".

_Whatever that means._

Still, Lily supposed she should be grateful to be alive.

Both James and she had been members in the Order of Phoenix and they were both pardoned at the end of the war. _Pardoned by Voldemort himself, no less._

The mass pardon for light wizards was the second most popular move for the new ministry. Light wizarding families numbered just as many as dark ones. And truthfully, the light side was always more popular in public opinion. _Well... at least they used to be._

Therefore, as a gesture of reconciliation, the Dark Lord had absolved many of those who fought against him in the war, declaring them to be victims of tricky by Albus Dumbledore. Aside from the most ferocious warriors (all got tried as war criminals and received public executions), most of them were released. Some of them were stripped of their titles and their jobs; most of them their money. But they were alive.

(Off course, Lily heard whispered rumours that the pardon was merely a public facade and Voldemort had marked many ex-order members for assassination. But she had no way to confirm this.)

James and Lily were placed under house arrest for a few years, but were eventually able to return to a semblance of normal life. James was even allowed to resume his title as the head of the Potter house.

Then, he shocked her by returning to his old jobs as auror. So now he works for the Dark Lord… At the new ministry, under the newly created Department of Peace (which was a combination of the old aurors department and Voldemort's military), under the direction of that dreadful woman—the one they call the Warmaster.

James had said he wanted to continue to help people. And, through the determination shone in his warm brown eyes, Lily understood what it implied.

So she made him promise to never talk of the Order again. And she made him promise to never ever endanger himself or his family for some silly rebellion. James had looked so hurt when she said that. And it broke her heart.

But she had Harry to protect now. And so she must…_must_ make him promise. Eventually, he did vow to stay away from trouble and from illegal activities. But the way he said that vow and the way he kissed her when he said it – so tenderly that it left her heart fluttered and her mind troubled.

Lily Evans Potter was worried, because she was a brilliant witch and she knew her husband. Yes, she knew him.

Her love was always the brave one. Reckless and brave.

She noticed the bags under James' eyes and kissed him fiercely.

Little Harry continued to dance around the dining room in a delighted delirium, finally making her laugh. Her husband's arm wrapped around her and Lily rested her head on his shoulder.

"Lily-flower," James whispered. "let's get out of this bloody country."

She whipped around to face him. Her beautiful green-eyes narrowed.

"Why?"

"I know you hated it here." James smiled fondly, but it was a weary smile, the kind seen on old men's face, not on young adventurous trouble-makers.

"I have been selfish," he continued. "Godric hollow has been my home my whole life, and the home of my parents and of my ancestors. And I had hoped one day it will be Harry's. But, now I realize it isn't the house that is my home. It is you—"

He hugged her a little tighter.

"—and Harry, who makes it worth returning to. You are right. This place is no longer safe for us. We can start anew in France, or Italy, or Belgium. Anywhere. As long as we are together."

She regarded him silently, then, she sunk into his embrace.

"But how? You know they will not let us leave. The anti-apparition ward around Britain is as strong as ever. I would know. I'm a ward master."

He smiled at her gratefully, "Well, I wasn't planning on telling them. Sirius found a group of vampires willing to let us stowaway on their cargo ship for a price."

" When?"

"Next week. If you are ready."

She nodded.

"I have been ready for a while."

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Harry perked up.

"That must be uncle Sirius! I'll get it!" He shouted and ran out of the dining room.

Lily was about to shouted at him to mind his manners, when the ward of the house suddenly shifted.

She felt the magic in the house come alive and it was buzzing with a frantic alarm. She grabbed her wand, shared a terrified look with James and instantly ran after their son.

Lily heard Harry's scream before she saw them by the door.

Her heart nearly stopped and she had to use all her will to not curse that woman on sight. That blasted witch, wearing a mad grin and Death Eater uniform, had Harry's arm in a tight grip. Her son's face was red and swollen; evidently someone struck him hard across the nose.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," James growled. His stance instantly shifted to that of a dueler. _"Let go of my son."_

"Now, now. Is that anyway to speak to your boss, Auror Potter?" Bellatrix chided playfully, the crazy look not entirely gone from her face.

"And here I was just going to compliment you on your lovely house… and adorable boy."

She pinched Harry cheek hard and Harry looked like he was going to cry.

Lily's blood ran cold.

Bellatrix Lestrange. One of Voldemort's most trusted follower. A member of the inner circle. Murder, executioner and hound of the Dark Lord. She was the head of the Department of Peace— the one they nicknamed the 'Warmaster'.

The tall, skinny man who stood next to her was murmuring to himself. He was also wearing a Death Eater uniform and Lily thought she recognizes his picture from the papers. He was a judge-of-a-sort, also a high-ranking Death Eater. Bartemius Crouch Jr, as she recalled.

"Madam Lestrange," Lily bowed slightly and lowered her wand cautiously, her voice a pitch higher than normal. "To what do we own the pleasure?"

Her eyes met Harry's and she shook her head slightly. In response, Harry stood up straight and wiped his eyes dry.

Oh, her brave, brave boy.

Bellatrix snapped her attention to Lily and frowned slightly as if she was trying to recognize her. Nevertheless, she answered.

"I need a word with your husband. _Deary_. Ministry business. In fact, ah, why don't you both come in with us."

"If you wish, madam, we would be more than happy to." Lily smiled reassuringly and stepped forward. Her wand still pointed to the floor. "Let me just sent Harry to bed before we go."

"Stop right there, Mudblood." Bellatrix suddenly jibed her wand at Lily's chest, the amusement vanished from her face. "Don't go and ruin my mood today. Careful, you don't want to cause any _accident_, do you?"

She jerked Harry backward, getting a yelp from the boy, and held him tight across the chest. The she smirked at Lily.

Behind her, Lily heard her husband growl. She could feel the house's ward tighten in response and she prayed that he would keep his temper. At this range, Lily could see Bellatrix was a dark beauty and appeared disturbingly like Sirius. Next to her, the man was revealed to be speaking a small robin on his shoulder.

Lily recognized the robin. James had told her it was a new communication device used in his department.

It hit her— they were surrounded. Trapped in their own home.

She could hear his words now.

"— Suspect has entered contact zone. Two adults. Armed and dangerous. Hostile intentions and attempting to resist arrest. Stand by for now—"

The tension was thick in the room. Lily snuck a look at her husband. James was a talent dueler. If he could distract Bellatrix for a moment for her to grab Harry, if she could activate the ward at same moment, they could apparite out—

Then, the house exploded.

Well, it was more like Harry willed the ward to explode. The panic in his first case of accidental magic triggered the ward somehow. The magic in the rooms instantly converged on the two invaders and blasted them backward in an effort to protect their young master. Both Death Eaters were thrown against the wall and knocked unconsciously. The six-years-old stumbled forward and fell into Lily's arms, his small body trembling with pain and shock.

It was magnificent to see, Harry's wild magic sweeping through the narrow hallway like a tornado. If Lily had any time to think, she would be overjoyed to find that her son has inherited her talent.

"Leave now!" She screamed at James.

She grabbed Harry and tried to apparite, but aurors had already placed a ward around the house.

Spell flew everywhere. Aurors were charging in now, in a stream of black robes they were everywhere. Lily tried desperately to get away, shielding her son with her body and shooting spells rapidly.

She could vaguely hear James shouting at her to take Harry and run. Then, a stunner hit the back of her head and she knew no more.

* * *

**Author's disintegrating ramble:**

So the first chapter is basically a long infor-dump in a flash-back. What a terrible, terrible way to start. Don't blame me. Blame the plot bunnies! They are cannibals, I tell you. Yum, yum.

Honestly, I don't have an overall plan for this story, so I'm counting on those plot bunnies to breed. And breed fast. Basically, I love reading HP AU stories and I combined a brunch to make my own. (Does that make my story sort of fanfiction of fanfictions. Wow, fanfiception?) And I also love dark humour stories, too bad I'm not funny at all :(

There will slash in the story –Tom/Harry and maybe others— other than that main ship, the other boats(lol) will be similar to canon. So Ron/Hermione … etc.

Please be patient with me and let me know if the story gets too confusing or something.

Thanks.

With love,

Coconut


	2. The Beginning cont

**Chapter 2**

**NOTE: **All the scenes with _/PAST/ _indicates scenes that happened when Harry was younger. All other scenes are within the present, which is during Harry's 7th year.

* * *

_/PAST/_

Lily woke up to the most excruciating headache and her husband's screaming.

She instantly reached for her wand, but it wasn't in its usual place, hidden in holsters of her sleeve. Her face felt cold and numb where it pressed against the marble floor and her left arm bent at an unnatural angle. Pain shot through her, reminding her that she was alive.

The screaming continued. Lily turned her face toward the sound, fear and nausea almost overtaking her. Her eyes hadn't adjust to the dim-lights, so she could not recognize the two shadowy figures that stood over James, with their wands pointing toward him, no doubt casting the cruciatus. Amidst the scream, they were laughing.

"NO!" She cried and tried to reach him, but her legs were bound together so she could only crawl.

Her shaky palms felt cold and slippery against the polished marble floor. She barely crawled one meter before a boot pressed down hard on her hand. She yelped in agony and glanced up, hatred bursting and piecing in her brilliant green eyes.

"Hello, deary. Finally decided to join the party I see," her tormentor smirked. "Don't want miss the climax, do we?"

The looming body of Bellatrix Lestrange towered over her. The Death Eater grinned madly as she dug her heel into Lily's hand, twirling a wand (Lily's wand, she recognized) between her fingers.

A biting retort was on Lily's lips, but she swallowed it when she saw Bellatrix's other hand. Immediate terror and relief flooded Lily, as she chocked down her tears. That bitch was still holding onto her son.

Little Harry's body trembled when she met his eyes. His glasses were broken in three places and nasty bruises were on his thin arms. But he was alive. Tears wet his face, causing his wild, dark curl to stick to his forehead. Lily absent-mindedly cursed that Potter hair. Oh, he looked so much James that it hurts.

"Mummy, mummy." Harry cried out repeatedly. Her son's eyes glossed with tears, but he seemed largely unharmed otherwise.

"It's okay, baby." Lily soothed, despite not believing her own words. "Be brave for mummy."

"Oh yes, be brave. Itsy, bitsy, lion cubsy," Bellatrix mocked amidst her manic laughter, ruffling Harry's hair with false affection. "You'll need it."

"Alright, go ahead. Go tell you filthy mudblood of a mother what we are looking for," The dark witch pushed Harry forward, still grasping the boy's wrist so he remained just out of Lily's reach. Her talons jabbed into Harry's check, carelessly, almost drawing blood.

"Tell her to _beg_ for your life."

Harry could barely speak; his small voice frail and soft amidst her husband screams.

"Mummy. They… they want to know…where is uncle Sirius?"

Lily's eyes widen in surprise. She couldn't prevent the words from escaping her mouth.

"What? Why?!"

The madding grin on Bellatrix's blood-red lips grew even wider.

"Why? I could tell you. But then… I would have to kill you. Although I suppose since I'm going to kill you anyways, I could tell you." She tapped Lily's wand against her thigh and stepped back. "— Which just brings me back to my original point. Decisions, decisions."

"What do you think? My dear," Bellatrix grabbed a handful of Harry's hair to tilt his head back, until their eyes met. Harry whimpered, tears running down his face.

"Aw, don't cry. I hate children who cry."

"_Enough_! Leave him alone!" Lily shouted at Bellatrix, the anger momentarily broke through her restraint.

Lily bowed her head low, her fiery red hair covering the despair and disgust on her face. She crawled toward Bellatrix (her legs were still bound by magic) and kissed the edge of her Death Eater robe.

"Please, please. Let me talk to James. We'll tell you everything, just let me talk to him."

"Awwww, is that it? I was looking forward to breaking you," Bellatrix pouted. Then, she brightened up suddenly as she delivered a hard kick straight to Lily's face, which made a nasty crunching noise. Lily fell backward, her nose bled heavily, but she kept her face down and lay on the floor passively.

Lily wiped some blood from her face and rubbed a concealed circle into her right palm. Then, she pushed her hand onto the marble floor and began reticently probing the ward in the room.

Bellatrix was still talking, "I can't wait to see the look on his face, that blood-traitor cousin of mine, when I sent him your husband's head on a platter. That will teach him, how _dare_ he steal from me! ME!"

As her magic slipped out of her, Lily felt calmer as she settled into her routine as a Ward Master.

_The first step of ward breaking: identify the ward— its type, its castor, its intention and its weak points._

Her left arm still quivered with pain and it could barely support her weight. She worked as fast as she can. Hiding her concentration behind her hair, she passaged her magic through her blood onto the floor and let it mingle with the magic in the room. She didn't dare to glance at her son, lest to attract attention. She merely lay there submissively, pretending fear had overtaken her.

James' screams had stopped. She prayed that he wasn't dead.

As her concentration improved, Lily became aware of the room they were in.

It was large and grand, decorated with old stones and gothic architecture, much like the Great Hall of Hogwarts; she lay in the middle of the room, flanked by rows of enormous copper statues on either side. Others were in the room, at least ten others– power wizards and witches, Death Eaters she suspects— conversing quietly amongst themselves, ignoring the proceeding as if they witness torture daily. (Maybe they do, Lily remained herself).

But she wasn't looking for them. Her magic crawled along the floor, drawl toward the ward's epicenter like a magnet. Most anti-apparition wards used its caster as the anchor, if she could only find him and tainted him with her magic somehow, she may be able to rip a transient hole in the ward, just long enough for them to escape.

Lily frowned. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

The floor beneath her palm burned like hot coal, the ward lashed out at her violently. It was so angry, vile and treacherous, unlike anything she had seen, thick black magic powered by an endless, horrible void. The darkness pressured her and Lily recoiled from the connection instantly.

A horrible realization arose in her, rising to her throat, bitter like bile. Lily looked up and stared straight into the red-eyes of the man across the room, leaning forward on his throne, oozing death and terror despite his causal manner.

Lily suppressed a hysterical laughter. How could she have missed him? That pale, waxy skin, that red, slit eyes, that snake-like nose, she had seen his image everywhere.

Her humble family has been brought forth to the King of Britain—Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort regarded her with indifference, before he addressed Bellatrix in a hissing voice. Instantly, the room became still, silent like the dead.

"Bella, how is the search progressing?"

Bellatrix licked her lips. She released Harry and pushed him onto Lily, before bowing her head toward her Lord.

"We have a suspect –Sirius Orion Black– my Lord," she replied graciously, tracing her fingers along her neckline to her amply bosom. "I sent Regulus after him, and unfortunately, that weasel managed to escape. But we have a lead, the Potters should be aware of his location."

"A lead?" Voldemort raised a none-existent eye-brow.

"Yes, my lord." Bellatrix nodded.

"Pettigrew!"

She snapped her finger and a short, stocky man emerged from the ranks.

"My…my lord," Pettigrew stuttered. "James Potter is Sirius Black's best friend. I am sure he must know where he is."

Lily covered Harry's mouth to prevent his surprise yelp. Her green eyes burned onto the rat-like man, nothing can describe the rage inside her. That coward didn't even the courage to look at her, to acknowledge the friends whom he betrayed, whom he murdered.

"You better pray he does," Voldemort menaced. "For a spy, you are damn useless." Then, he turned back to Bellatrix.

"I understand that you liking having fun, now and again, Bella. But do _not_ waste my time. Have Severus bring some Veritaserum and get this done. Now."

"Severus' out of the country for the week." Bellatrix mumbled; she clutched her dress unconsciously. "But I have them—" she pointed her wand in Lily's face, "I'll make him talk, my Lord. Let me—"

"ENOUGH."

Voldemort's blooming voice cut through the room like thunder, his magic resonated perilously as the Dark Lord's aura run furious. All the Death Eaters filched and lowered their heads.

"I had enough of your excuses. You've disappointed me."

He pointed his wand toward them. Without thinking, Lily shielded Harry with her body. But the curse wasn't meant for them.

Instead, the pain curse hit Bellatrix, throwing her body into the air and it landed with a sickening thud. Lily's wand fell on the floor and rolled away from Bellatrix.

"_Bring him to me."_ The Dark Lord inclined his head toward James's sagging form on the floor.

James Potter looked half-dead, sweat and blood soaked his robe as he mumbled softly to himself; his muscle still twitching from residual of a curse. Two giant lumps of men grabbed each of James' arms and dragged him forward physically. They dumped him in front of Voldemort.

"JAMES!"

Lily lurched forward, the binding on her legs vanished (probably because Bellatrix had lost her concentration). However, before she could reach him, someone casted a full-body bind on her. She fell backward, only to find Lucius Malfoy regarding her coolly, his face expressionless. Lily remembered he was a good friend of Severus Snape. Although she wasn't very sure, Lily hasn't spoken to Severus for years now.

Voldemort levitated James with a flick of his wand. He allowed the other man's face to be on the same height as his own.

"Tell me the location of Sirius Black," the Dark Lord commanded, a ringing power behind his words.

"NEVER!"

James snapped defiantly. His words barely auditable as blood gargled in his throat; it dripped onto the floor, shiny against the white marble.

"Off course, Gryffindors." Voldemort's expression resembled an eye-roll, but it was hard to read his slit-like pupil. "We can do this the hard way if you wish."

Voldemort raised one bony finger to tilt James' face toward him. His red-eyes stared into James, burning through his skull.

James Potter screamed. Something was clawing and ripping his mind apart. With his body suspended in mid-air, James thrashed and contorted in awkward angles, physical pain no longer concerned his brain.

Lily sobbed as she could only watch helplessly. She barely noticed Harry, until he embraced her and buried his head in her robe.

"It's okay, mummy." Her little boy whispered, "please don't cry."

"What a waste of my time," announced Voldemort when it was finally over. "He doesn't know anything."

Then, the Dark Lord flicked his wand and a jet of green light hit James.

Lily watched, disoriented and shocked, as her husband's body hit the ground in slow motion. She thought he had turned his head to look at her one last time, before the curse engulfed him. Although his tattered robe was soaked in blood, his face was remarkably clean and she could see his brown eyes looking back at her, vacant and lifeless.

Lily wept silently, clinging onto Harry with all her strength.

Voldemort wiped his hand on his robe, stood up and gestured for his Death Eaters to move forward. James' body laid next to his throne, already forgotten.

"Kerberus Nott," he called out. "You are in charge of this investigation from now. Report to me in a week."

"Yes, my lord," answered a tall Death Eater; he had a medium-built, with black hair slicked back perfectly. Behind him, Bellatrix snarled but she didn't dare to protest.

"Yaxley, what is the report on the Nottingham reconstruction—"

The Death Eaters formed a semi-circle facing the Dark Lord. All ten of them stood rigid with their arms pressed firmly at their side; they spoke only when addressed by Voldemort, each giving a detail report of government progression or state secrets. Some empty spaces were left between them, presumably room reserved for absent Death Eaters.

Lily and Harry were trapped in the middle. The meeting proceeded as if they didn't exist. Lily patted her son's head absently, as James' dead eyes watched them from next to Voldemort's feet.

It would be impossible to break the Dark Lord's ward.

His power was too great. His ward conjured from pure darkness, full of malignance and madness, eager to rip any deserter apart.

The only way to defeat the most powerful dark magic is to use the most powerful light magic.

When she was younger, Dumbledore once told her love is the most powerful form of magic. And Lily had laughed in the Headmaster's face. Therefore, when she became a Ward Master, she was surprised to receive a gift from Dumbledore, a rare and ancient book of restricted light spells.

The preface in the book had said that all magic required sacrifices— the only difference being amount and intent. Dark spells, like the Unforgivables, had become restricted when they require the sacrificing of others; light spells had become restricted when they require the sacrificing of self.

"Harry, my dear, my sweet boy," Lily whispered. "Promise me something. Forget what you saw today. When you are free, run away and hide. Don't worry about me."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Lily shook her head and kissed him lightly. She didn't have time to think.

_I'm sorry, honey,_ she thought. Then, she bit her thumb to draw blood and begin to scribe runes onto Harry's t-shirt.

It didn't take her long to complete her work. Then, she dived for her wand and began her spell, an old and forgotten spell, the most terrible and wonderful of light magic.

_James, Harry, James, Harry,_ she repeated in her head, over and over again until nothing else remains.

She willingly tore her magic from her body. The pain was excruciating. Lily felt her skin peeling away, her veins burst one by one and blood poured from every orifice, from her eyes, her nose, her ears and her mouth. But Lily kept the chanting going, whipping her wand above her head.

Her magic shattered into winds. They scattered across the room and her essence clung onto the Death Eaters. Voldemort's ward turned vicious at once, as she had expected, and began to attack them in full force. Death Eaters squealed in pain. Together, they fell onto the floor and clawed frantically at the mark on their left arm.

"Stop moving," Voldemort demanded, pulling out his wand. "Stay calm, you fools."

Lily worked quickly, through the terrible pain of her soul leaking from her body. She weaved her magic— held together by sorrow and regret— into a protective blanket and wrapped it around her son. Her burst of power has created a momentary rift in Voldemort's ward.

She grabbed Harry and prepared to apparate. She couldn't breathe. Voldemort's ward suffocating strong; its magic dug into her body like a million tiny hooks. Lily knew, as soon as she tries to apparate, the ward will tore her body apart (the worst case of splinching imaginable), but Harry should be protected. And safe. And far away from here.

She pursed her lips and brought the image of King's Cross into her mind.

Then, the Dark Lord threw the killing curse toward them.

Without thinking, Lily's body just reacted. She shielded Harry with her arms, reaching for one last embrace, then, she closed her eyes. Her wand fell and rolled away. The green light enveloped them both. Lily's magic still clung to Harry, tagging and fighting against the ward, protecting him from the world.

The ward's magic boiled in rage; its anger flared up again as it found the lifeless body of its target. It hissed like it was alive and converged on her, lifting her toward the ceiling before ripping her to pieces.

* * *

_/PAST/_

Harry froze when his mother's body exploded in front of him.

Her blood rained on him, soaking him like a wet rat. For a moment, no one moved. Lily's body fell to the ground, nothing more than a mush of flesh and bones, barely held together by her robe. The only thing Harry recognized was her vibrant, red hair, now sticky with blood and almost peeling away from her skull.

"That was interesting," a cruel voice intoned. It sounded so far away. "Impressive piece of magic. Nevertheless, a failure, as expected from a mudblood."

Harry looked up and found Voldemort's scarlet eyes. He felt nothing but rage—pure rage rampaged through his small body, jolting and gnawing at his mind, like the magic that had destroyed his mother.

"Die, you monster, DIE!" Harry screamed. His young voice echoed rather pathetically in the empty chamber.

He charged forward, running toward the Dark Lord, covered in blood and bearing his teeth like a wild animal. Harry moved without thinking, he just couldn't bear staying next to that thing of blood and flesh, unfurled on the floor.

Voldemort kept his eyes on the boy's face, only barest of eye movement suggested his surprise. With a wave of his wand, he easily threw the small boy backward.

Harry flew a good five meters back before landing on his back with a loud, crunching noise. He felt his left arm broke, but he stumbled up and charged again. His mother's magic still wrapped around him, it danced on his skin and his body started to absorb its energy, subduing the pain in the process.

Again, Voldemort flung Harry back through the air; the boy's body flailing like a rag-doll.

Still, Harry kept coming.

Finally, the Dark Lord placed him under a full-body bind and pulled him toward the throne. An invisible hand forced Harry to kneel in front of Voldemort. The older man peered down at him with mild curiosity.

"I will kill you! I will kill you! I WILL KILL YOU!"

Little Harry roared with all his strength. His green eyes glistened brilliantly with rage and despair. His magic crackled around him— a power he never knew he had— a force that has been awaking now.

Voldemort held up one hand to prevent the Death Eaters from interfering.

He laughed, a cold, spiteful sound, "kill me, a little rat like you? Many great wizards have tried and failed. What make you so special?"

Voldemort twirled his wand lazily. "You do have potential, boy, I'll admit it. And I hate to waste potential, even annoying, reckless Gryffindor ones."

Voldemort pointed for a sandy-haired Death Eater to step forward.

"Salem, you are a healer, right? What would happen, were I to cast a Total Obliviation spell on a six-year-old?"

The man gave Harry a brief once-over. "My lord, it most likely would destroy his mind. On the off chance it doesn't, it would still cause complete amnesia. He would forget his name, his parents, everything."

The Dark Lord nodded. He lowered his wand to Harry's temple.

"Be grateful for your luck. I'll spare your life today. As for your mind, that's up to fate. I like the look in your eyes, boy. I do hope we will meet again."

Red-eyes scorched onto Harry's green ones.

"Obliviate!"

* * *

_/PAST/_

When Harry came to, he was laying in St. Mungo's Hospital, bandaged up to his toes. Two aurors were there to greet him. They smiled warmly and told him they were his father's colleagues. They told him an explosion had occurred at his house and could he please recount whatever he remembers.

But the problem was Harry remembered everything. Especially, Peter Pettigrew.

Thus, he told them he can't recall anything and asked blankly if they could tell him who he is. The aurors shared a concerned look and shuffled out.

Throughout the next week, many people shuffled in and out of Harry's hospital room—healers, mind menders, aurors, friends of his parents and social workers. Harry didn't want to speak to any of them. So he just pretended to be sick and kept his mind as blank as possible.

In the end, somehow, he ended up being adopted by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, because their only son – Draco Malfoy – was a squib. It caused quite the scandal too.

It wasn't until years later, when Harry met Tom that he realized why he remembers.

Harry was a natural occlumen, someone who was born with the gift of the mind protection. So naturally, memory charms, even one casted by the most powerful wizard, failed on him. Off course, no one had suspected this, because no occlumen —natural or otherwise— has ever activated their power at the tender age of six.

Opening of the mind required powerful magic; normally, one tends to start occlumency training at seventeen. A natural occlumen may advance faster and master the art at fifteen, but no one ever has done it earlier. No one, that was, except Harry.

Tom had said his power awoke due to him absorbing his mother's magic, tricking his body into believing he was of age. Harry didn't care how it happened. All he cared was that it did happen.

Thus, Harry remembered. He wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse.

* * *

Harry always dreamed of the same thing.

His mother's lush, red hair floating in a pool of blood. His father vacant, brown eyes gazing through him.

_The pair of red eyes with snake-like pupil._

Harry felt something touching his arm and all trance of the nightmare left him. He snapped into action on instinct. He sat up promptly, his eyes still unfocused and sluggish, but his body moved with the precision of a solider– years of training has conditioned his body, horned his senses and made him paranoid. He reached out and grabbed the intruder's arm, jerking the boy forward with excessive force, his wand pointing steadily at the other's throat.

"Good morning, dear brother," the voice sounded calm and bored.

Draco Malfoy's icy blue-eyes fixed onto Harry's lethargic face. He casually pushed Harry's wand away and called out in his usual, arrogant drawl.

"Time to get up. We have transfiguration in an hour."

"How many times do I have to tell you, _don't_ do that." Harry hissed, but released his grasp at once and plopped back onto bed. "I swear to Salazar, I'm going to curse you next time."

"You're welcome to try," was the blonde's answer. His eyes narrowed as they turn to a dangerous shade of red.

A dark aura rushed out of the lean, pale boy, a surge of power so wild that Harry's skin tickled with electricity. The boy's dark magic engulfed Harry's senses, reminding him this boy was not his brother. _Hm_, as if Harry could ever forget, even for a moment, Tom Riddle: his friend, his tormentor, his protector, his teacher, _his bonded one_.

With Harry, Tom Riddle can be cruelly gentle and brutally honest. Between the two of them, there will be no acts of model student, popular head boy, prim and proper heir; no mercy or pleasantries when they are alone, all pretense forgotten and masks peeled away to remind Harry that Tom was no mere mortal, but an entity born of darkness, desire and power. _Power from the diary, from Harry's magic and from his mother's sacrifice._

Harry ignored him.

Tom rarely scared him, not anymore.

Sometimes, Harry remembers the day like it was yesterday, the day he and Draco summoned Tom from the diary, convinced by his sweet lies that they had found a guardian angel. Someone who could help Draco with his squib problem and someone who could guide Harry on his quest for revenge.

_Ah, how naive they were!_

Harry surveyed the room and saw it was empty.

They were alone, his mind drowsy with forgotten dreams; an irritated Tom Riddle standing beside his bed. Harry signed and, once again, he wished for death.

"Thank you for your help, Draco," Harry intoned pleasantly, using the same mocking drawl. "Please go have breakfast. I will join you in a minute."

Tom's eyes narrowed. His magic flared like Hell's flame, a salient warming, no different from rattling of a poisonous viper. Without another word, he threw open Harry's cover and pulled the boy from his bed.

This man was no Malfoy, no more than Harry was.

Harry smirked inwardly. Tom Riddle always hated Harry calling him Draco, because he wasn't Draco and Harry was the only person in the entire world who knew that.

Although, even to this day, Harry wasn't sure what Tom really is. Oh, there were clues, off course. Even from the beginning, he knew that Tom had been a Hogwarts student fifty-years-ago, a parselmouth and a dark wizard with a vendetta. Tom had told Harry that he was the real Slytherin heir, that Voldemort stole his crown and Tom intended to get it back. But Harry didn't believe him. Through trial and travail, Harry learned a long time ago to never trust Tom's words.

In his early years, Harry had searched high and low for Tom's true nature, but Tom thawed his every attempt. Harry was too young, then, to play mind games and Tom got whatever he wanted from Harry. By the time Harry learned his mistakes, it was too late. Tom was a controlling bastard. Always was and always will be. And he was never letting go of Harry.

"Release me," Harry hissed, trying to pull his arm free. But Tom's wouldn't budge.

Harry moved without warning. He shuttled closer to Tom. Bending his arm at an awkward angle, he wiggled enough room to deliver a hard kick straight at Tom's knee; then, using the twisting momentum of his upper body, Harry shoved Tom off balance and wrenched his arm free.

His hits were brutal and his aim true. Tom had taught him how to fight, how to kill, how to aim for the softest meat and vital organs. Although Tom was never a fan of physical combat, he thought it was vulgar and beneath wizards who wield high power, Tom was a pragmatist at heart. He understood how useful hand-to-hand combat can be; how much wizards mistakenly underestimate a wandless opponent; how a quick knife at the enemy's throat can save a life. Or end another.

Harry loved it, though. He reveled in the sport of blood and sweat. The physicality and ferocity of fighting woke his senses, made him feel alive. Besides, he tended to get so worn out that he can just drift asleep, exhaustion prevents his brain from concocting and keeps the nightmares at bay.

Soon, they were trading punches. Their bodies became entangled in a violent brawl, tumbling onto Harry's bed. Punches and jabs landed everywhere, although they were carefully to avoid each other's faces. After all, they still had keep up the façade— the pair of noble, sophisticated Slytherin brothers, the future leaders of the magical upper class, a symbol of unity between Light and Dark.

Both boys were acutely aware of the roles they played in society. And they always played it perfectly. So perfectly that no one ever suspect the treachery and murders they committed, both together and against each other.

Finally, Tom managed to gain the upper hand. Harry's arms had become entangled in his bed sheet and Tom taken the opportunity to pin him to his bed. Tom's right hand twisted Harry's wrists above him and he straddled Harry's waist with his legs, effectively immobilising the dark-haired boy.

They stared at each other for a moment. Now Harry was thankful that the dorm was vacant, since this was a rather compromising position. And, boy, do rumors travel fast in Slytherin.

Absently, he wondered if Tom had gotten rid of the other Slytherins on purpose. He must have known Harry was having nightmares and how emotional that left him.

Tom loved to provoke him these days. Harry suspected that Tom disapproved when Harry had become too good at the game, too adapt with his mask, too clever to a fun toy for Tom. Some days, Harry wondered if Tom is as tired of pretending as he is. With so many secretes and so many lies, in a bizarre and unhealthy way, they can only be themselves around each other.

Tom traced a long, slender finger along Harry's face, his skin cold like snow. Harry's muscle stiffened as red eyes met his green ones; his survival instincts screamed at him to run, but his pride won't let him. A small trance of a smirk appeared on Tom's pale lips.

"Fuck off," Harry snarled, rising to the bait like he always does.

Tom chucked darkly. "You never learn, do you, Harry Potter?"

Tom's eyes swirled in scarlet, blood-lust and amusement plain on his face, twisting Draco's delicate features into some more sinister. A deadly predator, trapped in the body of a seventeen-years-old.

"How could you hope to defeat me, when I taught you everything you know?"

With great tenderness, Tom brushed aside Harry's dark, wild curls and stroked his cheek. He pressed down on Harry's lighting-shaped scar, causing intense pain to shoot him. The ouroboros mark on Harry's back burned upon Tom's command. A warning for his disobedience, Tom always liked to keep him on a tight leash.

And Harry hated him for it, so he fights back every step of the way.

"Get off me, you sadistic bastard. I'm too exhausted to deal with your games right now," Harry thrashed about in angry, but Tom's hands held firm.

"Oh, dear!" Tom shook his head in mock disproval. "Aren't we feeling violent this morning?"

"I always feel violent around you." Harry glared.

Harry breathed heavily. Tom's magic was so familiar to him that it was simultaneously comforting and excruciating. He had to bite his lips to stop the groans of pain from escaping. Momentarily, Harry wondered if he could break Tom's back with his knee. Then, he remembered this was Draco's body, which Tom borrowed, and he didn't want to hurt Draco.

"_Stay still_. You know what I want—" Tom leaned forward, his face so close that they were almost nose-to-nose. Harry didn't dare to look away. At this range, he could count the other's eyelashes. _Hm_, he never noticed that Draco has yellow eyelashes.

"—And you know there is no point fighting me," the other whispered, soft but no less threatening.

Harry went limp.

He signed, "Fine. Just get it over with."

"_**Then, stay still,**_" Tom murmured in parseltongue, his breath felt hot on Harry's ear. Tom's voice always sounded hoarse and threatening in that language, not like Draco's usual soft tone at all.

Suddenly, Tom pressed his lips firmly against Harry's own.

Unlike Tom's fingers, his lips were smooth and hot like fire. Harry's green eyes widened at the contact. No matter how many times they've done this, Harry can never get used to feeling of Tom's lips on his, sucking his magic and draining his energy. It was a strange sensation, but not unpleasant per se, more like unnerving, exhaustive and (as much as Harry hates to admit it) thrilling.

It was their deal. In exchange for Tom's knowledge, Harry had to share his magic with the spirit. Because Draco Malfoy was a squib and Tom Riddle was not exactly alive; Tom needed raw life force to act as a wizard, for magic do not bow to the dead or imitation of the living.

Harry still remembered the vassalage oath that bonded him to Tom. A silly, little oath that had turned into a soul bond, a connection mended by a mother's love and forged by shared minds. A connection that had grown to encompass his whole life.

Their interaction went on a little longer than necessary. Harry finally had enough. He twisted his head side-way, breaking the kiss, and then rammed his forehead into Tom. Then, he pushed Tom off him and rolled off the bed, landed on unsteadied feet and felt dead tired, despite the adrenaline rushing through him.

Harry's heart beat like drums in his chest, almost making it hard to breath. He unconsciously touched his lips and his cheeks burned.

Tom laughed.

"All this time, and you're still not used to my touch. Very adorable, dear brother."

"Shut up." Harry grumbled.

He looked at the blonde boy, sprawled on the floor, and realized it wasn't very wise to angry the homicidal spirit, who probably knows a hundred ways of murdering a man and many more of torture. Especially, since said spirit was in the process of training him to become a killer.

Harry reached out a hand to help Tom off the floor. Tom took it in a tight grip and his custom smirk was back, making his red eyes dance with amusement.

"You know, if you just wanted to exchange magic, you could have asked." Harry murmured, his blush expanding under Tom's stares. "I'll do it. I'm a man of my words."

Tom's smirked grew. "Ah, I suppose I could have asked. But where's fun in that?"

Harry wanted to punch him again.

Tom turned away from him and walked over to his bed to grab his textbooks.

"You have training, today at nine," he announced offhandedly.

"But quidditch practise don't end till ten. I'm the captain. I have to be there." Harry glared back, unwilling to relinquish the few hours of freedom he seldom enjoys. "And don't tell me you are unaware of it. Half of my team are your followers."

"Oh, more than half." Tom shrugged. His eyes returned to its crystal blue and he began to fix his blond hair back in place.

Tom's mood was always better after he ingested Harry's magic. Only then, could Harry see a trance of his gentle, timid brother left in Tom.

Although it was better to keep that a secret, since Tom despised Draco, with every fiber of his being.

Tom waved his wand to smooth the wrinkles on his robe, at once, he returned to the impeccable Malfoy heir.

"I'll see you at nine," Tom called before gliding out the Slytherin dorm.

* * *

**Author's ramble 2.0:**

Great thanks to dear reviewers:** animefan1991, Picas Lei-Fur, Lilbka, sousie and Guest. I don't know why reviews make me so happy, but they do.** :)

English is not my first language, so I tend to misspell words and have problem with grammatical consistency.

Please help me by pointing out my mistakes. I'll correct what I can.

Thank you,

Coconut

P.s. Extra thanks to Guest for pointing out that I wrote, "because their only son – Draco Malfoy – was a **squid**". Um… unintentional lulz? Ewwwwww, Narcissa, I didn't know you are into tentacles! (For those uninitiated, I suggest you google tentacles anime. Although I got to warn you, what is seen cannot be unseen.)

P.p.s. I don't know if Padfoot's full name is Sirius Orion Black, but it sounds good to me, 'cause that means his initials is **SOB** (Son of a B***h). Ha, that's why he's a dog, right? :P


	3. Chapter two and three-quarters

**Chapter 2 and 3/4**

SORRY! I don't have an update. I actually wrote half of chapter 3 but my STUPID computer was busy pretending it's a rock and basically the data is lost… somehow…#$%^ ##% ^&%$$

I have to retype everything. I'll do it soon. In the meantime, I wrote a crack piece instead.

* * *

(Stage direction)

Title: When Harry met Sally

**Really Title:** **When Canon!Harry met Forever-Is-a-Long-Time!Harry**

Author: Coco Nut (AKA fuck you Dell)

Script for: one act play

(Man and boy stand at center stage, a meter apart, facing the audience.)

Adult Harry: "Hello, I'm Harry James Potter. I am the boy-who-lived, defeater of Dark Lord Voldemort and current head auror. My lovely wife, Ginny Weasley, and I have three adorable children together."

Young Harry: "Pleasure to meet you, my name is Harry Potter Malfoy. I am a seventh-year student at Hogwarts, Quidditch captain and wanna-be assassin. I have no idea in seven hells what the boy-who-lived is. But I do know that I will become the man who kills Voldemort— Wait—"

(He turns toward Adult Harry.)

Young Harry: "did you say Ginny Weasley?"

Adult Harry (frowns): "Yes. Did you say Harry Malfoy?"

(Both men make a disgusted face.)

Both: "How?"

Young Harry: "You go first."

Adult Harry (shrugs): "There isn't a lot to tell. I suddenly discovered that I love her in my sixth-year. I guess I like red-heads."

Young Harry (cough, cough): "Oedipus complex."

Adult Harry: "Oh? Then who are you with? Cho? Hermione? Luna?"

Young Harry: "Tom, I guess."

Adult Harry (looks horrified): "Tom who?"

Young Harry (grins): "Tom Riddle. And it's Dr. Who to you."

Young Harry (turns to Coconut, who's hiding backstage): "Who's Dr. Who?"

Coconut (whispers): "Someone from Muggle telly. Now focus on your lines."

Adult Harry (looks more horrified): "But he is—"

Coconut (shouts on top of her lungs): "SPOILERS! BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!"

Adult Harry (still looks horrified): "—that's terrible! Not in a homophobic kind-of-way, off course, I have many gay friends, but in a he's an evil, murderous git kind-of-way."

Young Harry (shrugs): "I know."

Adult Harry: "Then, why—"

Young Harry (looks thoughtful): "Dunno… Stockholm syndrome?"

Tom (yells from backstage): "You ungrateful little— after everything I've done for you!"

Coconut (yells at Tom): "Shut up! Did I cue your line? No, I didn't—"

(Green light flashes. Tom kills Coconut backstage.)

Adult Harry (deadpans): "Charming fellow, I'm sure."

Young Harry (smiles fondly): "Never mind, just ignore him. Say, I wanted to ask you, how did you defeat Voldemort?"

Adult Harry: "Well, it all started that fateful night on the astronomy tower—"

(The spotlight is lit upon Adult Harry as he narrates his monologue. Cue swelling orchestral music.

(Half-hour later)

"—the curse rebounded toward Voldemort. It hit him and he died. The end."

Young Harry: "… so what you are saying is that you were lucky."

Adult Harry (shrugs): "Hey, I was also very brave…and it worked, didn't it?"

Young Harry: "…lucky bastard. Oh well, at least I'm not married to a Weasley."

Adult Harry: "Very happily married to a Weasley, thank you very much, with three lovely children— James Sirius, Albus Severus, and little Lily Luna."

Young Harry (deadpans): "Really? James Sirius, really? What unique and original names! You, sir, are the great father ever. I'm sure young Albus Severus Potter is the most popular boy in school and lives happily without the burden of the past following his every step. Oh dear, I'm so moved that invisible tears are streaming down my face."

Adult Harry (frowns): "What! You don't like it? I had to beat Ginny three times in rock-paper-scissor to win those naming rights, you know?"

Young Harry (rolls his eyes): "Whatever…"

Adult Harry: "Don't you roll your eyes at me, young man. Now, I want you to listen to me."

(Adult Harry walks over to young Harry and places a hand on his shoulder.)

Adult Harry: "Listen, when I was your age—"

(Young Harry walks away.)

Adult Harry (sternly): "You listen to me, young man. I know boys like Tom, after all he was my nemesis, and I know he can be charming and alluring at times. But he is no good for you. He is a liar and a cheater... And mass murder too."

Young Harry (yells back, choking back tears): "You can't tell me what to do! You don't understand me! And you never will! I hate–"

Young Harry (stops abruptly and flips through the script): "Who wrote this piece of shit?"

(The dead body of Coconut says nothing.)

Adult Harry (laughs): "Yeah, it was really bad. Can I go home now? You know, this is the first year Lily gone to Hogwarts. So now Ginny and I finally have some alone time. She said she wants to take me out camping today. She has a thing for outdoor activities, if you know what I mean." (Wiggles brow suggestively)

Young Harry (pales): "In the name of Salazar's fucking wand, please, shut up."

Adult Harry (laughs again): "You know, that's nothing wrong with having a little fun. When you have been married as long I have—"

Young Harry: "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" (Runs away. He trips over Coconut's dead body and falls into Tom's arms.)

Tom (Eyes turn red. He pulls Young Harry closer): "I think I agree with him. What do you say we go have some fun of our own—"

Young Harry: "What are you talking about—"

(Tom grabs young Harry and they apparate. Cue curtain.)


	4. A Girl

**Chapter 3**

Quidditch practise went quite well, Harry thought. He meant that no one has broken anything— yet — and they finally were able to run some plays. (Which was quite an accomplishment, since Crabbe and Goyle on his team and they were as thick as the Great Wall of China. Harry only accepted them because they got good strength and one dogged, aggressive streak when it comes hurting the opponents.)

Harry striped off his sweaty uniform and cast a cleaning charm on himself. He splashed some cold water on his face and was about to get dressed, when a hand threw causally around his shoulder.

Harry pushed the hand away in annoyance. He really didn't like physical contact, especially against his bare skin— it made him feel vulnerable and exposed, uncomfortable with the presumed familiarity.

He turned to face Theodore Nott, the black-haired boy, who, apparently, was his self-proclaimed best friend. Harry signed inwardly, for some bloody reason, the tall, weedy boy took a liking to him the day they met. The boy insisted on being friend with Harry and, despite his frosty rejections, Nott persisted.

At first, it made Harry uncomfortable since Nott's father was a high-ranking Death Eater and an accomplice on that fateful day. But even Harry had to admit defeat sometimes. Eventually he grudgingly accepted Theodore's friendship. Still, that didn't mean Harry appreciates when the boy's dripping sweat all over his neck. _Honestly, some people just have no concept of personal space._

"Nice tattoo, captain," Theodore announced cheerfully, patting Harry's back. "I got to say, it doesn't look like your style, kinda of big and scary, isn't it?"

"Why, I was feeling particularly patriotic that day," Harry replied, pushing Theodore off him once again. "How does it look?"

"Great, magnificent, very manly." Theodore joked. "That's why I'm surprise. I mean— you look more like the 'I love mom' type of person."

Harry fixed Theodore with a particularly nasty look and the boy instantly remembered whom he was speaking to. Theodore opened his mouth to apologize, but Harry cut him off.

"If you have time to gawk at me, Theodore, why don't you do something constructive for the team? For examples, our broomsticks need waxing and shine. After all, we have a match right after Halloween weekend, I think Slytherin deserves to look pristine and prefect, don't you?"

"What! Why?" Theodore wined loudly. "Get the rookie to do it." He motioned to the small boy stand behind them.

"I'll do it, captain, Harry, sir. I'm more than happy to."

The boy replied as soon as Harry's eyes turned on him. He nodded enthusiastically in a way that reminded Harry of his house elf Dobby.

Theodore snickered.

"Sure you would. If Harry asked you to jump of the Astronomy tower, I'm sure you are more than happy to, right, kid?"

The boy's abnormally large, brown eyes widened and he turned to Harry pleadingly, a gesture which Harry ignored pointedly.

Sometimes he wondered why he allowed young Markel Lestrange to be on the Quidditch team. The sandy-haired second-year was slight and clumsy, with average speed and a weak throw. Harry had given him the position of reserve Chaser, but secretly knew that Lestrange would never step onto the field.

He had given the Lestrange the position for his own protection. Being on the team offered its own special status, and Harry hoped it would be enough to stop bullies from hurting Markel. Markel Lestrange was the rat of the Slytherin, because everyone knew that Markel was the bastard child of Rodolphus Lestrange. And that meant in Slytherin, where status was everything, Markel was nobody and he would be forced to live like one.

The first time Harry saved Markel was an accident; ever since then, the boy had worshiped him like a hero, which, Harry discovered, can be mighty annoying. But, in the end, he was stuck with the boy because on one else cared. _At least Markel is good at something, _Harry thought, _anyone who can make Bellatrix Lestrange miserable is alright in my book._

"Well," said Harry as he struggled into his t-shirt. "Why don't two of you work together then. I think–"

Harry bit his lip as the tattoo on his back burned. _Tom was calling him, and getting very impatient, so it seems__._

Harry rubbed the tattoo, tracing its heat with his fingers.

The painted serpent's head rested on his shoulder, its body wrapping around him, down to his pelvis before its tail returned to its jaw to form a perfect circle– a traditional Ouroboros. The detailed and brightly coloured snake stretched across his pale flesh, so terribly real and seemingly alive whenever Tom calls upon him. Its scales gleamed gold and red, blue and green, sliver and grey depending on Tom's mood; right now, it burned like hot iron and Harry imagined it would look as red as blood.

Many had told him it was a magnificent art work, but Harry couldn't see it. To him, it was the shackle that bonded to him to Tom Riddle, an eternal reminder of the freedom he foregone in his quest for revenge. _Although he never regretted it. Never._

Harry walked out of the locker room and sprinted across the field.

The pain on his back was quite distracting, so Harry was very surprised when he ran smack into someone at the castle's door. A girl in Gryffindor uniform fell to the floor, her long red-hair spread around her.

"I'm so sorry, miss… Weasley." Harry helped her up graciously. "Are you alright?"

"Um… yes." Ginny Weasley smiled brightly at him.

Her cheek looked pink and her hands were cold. Harry deduced that meant she had been outdoors recently, in the chilling wind, why would a girl be on the grounds at this hour? Then, he remembered she just became the Gryffindor Seeker, perhaps she was spying on them?

He regarded her suspiciously.

Ginny shifted under his glare.

"Um… actually, it's just Ginny, please. I mean that's a lot of us—so —"

The burning sensation intensified, once again reminding him to stay on time. Harry suppressed a grimace.

Harry bowed slightly to her, remembering his etiquette for dealing with pure-blood ladies. _Were the Weasleys pure-bloods, anyways?_

"Alright, just Ginny." He smiled cordially, "I hope you're not hurt, because I am looking forward to our match next week."

"Oh!" She looked very surprised. "Oh! You knew that? I didn't think you even noticed me."

Harry shrugged, "Hermione told me."

And he added silently to himself, I don't know why she thinks I am interested in her Gryffindor gossips.

"Right, Hermione!" she yelped again, "She, um, asked me to return this to you—" she handed him a heavy book.

Harry glanced down at book. It was his copy of _One Thousand and One Potions for Medical Use__,_ which Hermione borrowed from him last week.

"She asked _you_ to return it to me?"

"Yes, I knew you would be here—" Ginny blabbed on, looking redder if possible. "Because Dean mentioned Slytherin had practise every Thursday night."

"It couldn't wait until morning?" Harry raised an eye-brow. "We do have potions together."

Harry watched Ginny splutter under his glance. Ah, off course she was spying on them. Does the girl think he was stupid? Hermione would never ask her to go visit the Slytherin Quidditch team on her own, late at night, especially since they would see each other in class anyways.

"Well… er…Also, actually, I wanted to talk to you, about something." She muttered, staring her shoe.

Harry waited impatiently, while she examined her shoes. The pain on his back worsened. Now the tattoo pulsed in beats, regular rhythm like a heart.

_Screw Tom,_ Harry thought angrily,_ I will not be summoned like some pet__._

He turned toward Ginny.

"Would you like for me to walk you to Gryffindor tower? We can talk on the way."

She returned a grateful smile and walked with him.

Harry immediately regretted his decision. He forgot how _friendly_ Gryffindors can be. Never have been trained in the fine art of conversation, they always insisted on broadcasting mundane details about their lives, as if anyone's actually interested.

She was blabbing the whole walk. Right now, she went on a tangent about how she recently broken up with Dean Thomas, the Gryffindor Chaser, when they finally arrived in front of the Fat Lady's portrait.

"There you are," Harry signed in relief, before turning around. "Good night, Miss Weasley."

"Wait!" Ginny yelled after him. Then, she grabbed his hand, hard enough to pull him back. Her face was as red as her hair, but her blue-eyes shone bravely, which momentarily surprised Harry. He turned to her as she spoke.

"It's Halloween this weekend. So we have Hogsmeade visits…I… I know I am being very presumptuous, because a Malfoy wouldn't … but I have to try."

She took a deep breath.

"Harry, I was wondering if you would—"

The pain on Harry's back exploded. He dropped her hand like hot coal and backed way. The cold stone wall felt soothing on his blistering skin. Harry whipped his wand in direction of the familiar dark aura.

"Presumptuous don't begin to describe you, my dear." A cold voice drifted toward them.

"Malfoy?!" Ginny shirked, barely recognizing Draco's form under the brutal, crushing dark magic.

Tom strode toward them, a deadly calm expression on his face, in complete contrast with the rage boiling in his magic. It flared up and touched them both, effectively silencing them.

Ginny backed away instantly, looking bewildered as if she couldn't believe she was looking at their beloved head boy.

Tom ignored her and turned toward Harry, who clutched his wand tightly. Tom pushed Harry against the wall, one hand on the other's heart. He leaned in to whisper in Harry's ear.

"Hello, brother dear. It seems you've forgotten our appointment."

He spared one glance toward Ginny.

"Perhaps a pretty, little bird distracted you? After all, you always had a soft spot for useless things."

The pain on his back lessened upon Tom's touch, which was the only reason Harry hasn't pushed him away. Through their contact, Harry felt Tom's emotion seep through his Occlumen shield, a swirl of darkness that he didn't dare to untangle. Harry noticed, with some panic, that Tom's blue-eyes begin to swirl red.

"Calm the fuck down," Harry gritted out.

He had lean into Tom to whisper, so Ginny wouldn't hear them. He was acutely aware of how strange this may appear to her, with his back against the wall, Tom's hand holding his t-shirt and their lips barely inches apart. She squealed something, but Tom's magic smothered her instantly.

Still keeping his eyes on Harry, Tom proclaimed loudly, way louder than necessary for their proximity.

"Ah, I see. So another mindless suitor decided to go after the Potter Heir. Well, well, haven't we seen this before?"

While continuing to ignore Ginny, Tom turned his ear toward Harry as if listening to him. At the same time, his hand shot up to muff Harry's mouth, and Harry noticed the angle was constructed precisely so Ginny couldn't catch a glimpse of their interaction.

"Who's this girl, then? Oh… a nobody. I see. So, a mudblood? No, you say. Oh, yes, a blood-traitor. Not much better— I'm afraid. A Weasley?"

He let out a cruel laugh.

"Oh my! Now, that is a terrible joke. The pathetic Weasel wants to date the Slytherin prince? Well, one of the Slytherin princes, at least. Unless she wants to date me as well— excuse me— just the thought of it makes me want to barf."

"No!" Something seemed to break in Ginny's voice. She struggled out her words, breathing in gulps as if underwater. "I am not—"

Tom waved his free hand to silence her.

"I understand why she's interested, though. Do you want to know, Harry? Yes? I'll tell you then. The silly girl's father lost his job recently. Got caught smuggling Muggle machinery, I believe. Pathetic. Some people will do anything for a galleon, wouldn't they? Including selling themselves, I imagine. Tisk, tisk. If you think they were dirt poor before—and now—and now I'm surprised they haven't starved to death yet. Hm… maybe some of them have. Who knows, there are so many of them."

Tom tightened his grip on Harry. Harry shivered at the completely blankness on his brother's face, even as those cruel word fell seamlessly, as if Tom's only reciting a script.

"So now she's got her eyes on the Malfoy money. At least, she's smart enough to know a good meal ticket. Right? Harry—"

Tom's eyes trained on Harry's green ones. They hold him in way to make Harry feel they were the only people in the world. Harry blinked in confusion, _he should do something_. He realized Tom never even acknowledge Ginny once throughout the whole conversation.

"No." Ginny chocked out. The girl had curled into a small ball at the foot of the portrait, her shoulder shook with every breath she took.

Although Harry couldn't see her face, he was struck by the quietness of her sobbing. Its laboured effort swayed her red hair back and forth, disturbingly similar to how his mother had cried on him that night.

"_**Enough**_." Harry whispered harshly, unknowingly slipping into Parseltongue. He wrenched his arm free and pointed his wand in Tom's face.

"_**You are going to attack me? For her?"**_ Tom narrowed his eyes, scarlet coloured his iris completely.

Harry pursed his lips; he really needed to get Tom out of here. They worked too hard to blow their covers now. Harry signed. He couldn't understand why Tom was acting so irrationally.

He pushed Tom away gently, painfully aware of the wrath pouring from the other's magic, and walked over to help Ginny stand up. She didn't struggle against him, but she didn't acknowledge him either. Her eyes were puffy and unfocused. Beside them, the Fat Lady regarded him suspiciously.

He pressed his wand to her back and casted a Coercion charm on her. Finally, she turned her attention on him.

"Harry?" She whispered.

"Ginny, you are tired, ain't you?" Harry smiled pleasantly, then, added a little force behind his charm.

She nodded.

"You are having a bad dream. Go to your dorm and sleep it off. Can you do that for me?"

Harry intoned sweetly, his magic flowing to her, gentle and mesmerizing, his light magic responded well to her and it surrounded her easily.

She nodded again.

She automatically turned to the portrait, announced the password and climbed in without protest.

"You know." Tom commented offhandedly, "it's pointless if she forgets everything."

Harry fixed him with an annoyed look. Through their bond, Harry felt Tom's mood settle down—to a more serene state. Although Tom's mind was never truly calm. Everything within Tom burned with a passion— anger and hate and obsession; it simultaneously awed and terrified Harry.

But right now Harry was just rather annoyed. He felt exhausted and confused, and he didn't want to spend the night cleaning after Tom.

"Oh, and one more thing."

Harry turned to the portrait and lowered his wand to the Fat Lady.

"Obliviate."

* * *

**Author's rambling:**

Special thanks to my reviewers: **Q3APo, Honeybee, semexx, Cupcak3, Guest, Finding-u-through-time-n-space, Emriel, sousie and Haruhaze**. Here's some Halloween candies for you. Ho, ho, ho. Er, I mean boo.

Ah, Tommy, you totally over-reacted. Harry barely noticed Ginny before and now he's gonna remember her. I probably had too much fun with that scene and it went on way longer than necessary. I need to learn to be economic with my words. Man...

I still have two exams next week. So, in conclusion, I hate my life. But I can probably write faster now my brother fixed my computer.


	5. First Impressions

**Chapter 4**

_/PAST/_

Harry was nine-years-old when he discovered Tom Riddle's diary.

Harry blamed the whole thing squarely on Lucius Malfoy. After all, a wizard should have warded his secrets better, much better than allowing a child to break in and get his hands on one of the darkest artifact ever known to man.

Yes, it was all Lucius' fault— even if Harry was the person who first noticed the diary and promptly stole it…er, he meant borrowed it.

Harry had found it, hidden in the shelves of the secret room in the Malfoy library. The ward around the room was surprisingly easy to break. Harry used Draco's blood and some rudimentary runes to pry open a door behind the fire place, having previously seen Narcissa disappear into the same spot. He suspected Lucius had eased the wards intentionally, to allow Narcissa access. In any case, Lucius had nothing to fear, the Malfoy Manor was one of the most heavily protected place in all of Britain and the only one who shared his blood—his only son – was a shameful squib.

Furthermore, Lucius never knew the extent of Harry's talents, because young Harry Potter never registered on his mind. After all, British treasury secretary Malfoy— popularly known as the Coinmaster— was the head of the Department of Plenty and a very, very busy man. As he was fond of saying,_ very busy, indeed, for the man who manages the whole British economy, a terribly challenging job, you know, so challenging that only a Malfoy or a pack of demonic mules can accomplish it_.

As a result, Malfoy Senior was never home. For the few hours that he was, he focused the entirety of attention on the elegantly beautiful Narcissa.

Lucius had treated his adopted son like a chair; only occasionally acknowledging the boy's existence– as a curiosity to be paraded out at parties or an exotic pet for his wife. Over time, Harry learned to appreciate his lack of interest, because it allowed him freedom to prepare his own devious plots.

Besides, he could never see Lucius as his father. Not when the blonde's cold eyes appeared every night in his dreams, regarding him apathetically as green lights engulfed his parents.

The secret library held many wonderful things – mostly ancient books of restricted dark and light spells, atlas of forgotten places, secretive and illegal research documents, even deeds and bonds of Malfoy properties that were unsuitable for Gringotts.

Almost every ancient house had a stash like this. Knowledge was power and the pure-bloods had tons of it. Hidden and accumulated for centuries, their information network expanded beyond the imagination of ordinary folks, such to forever propagating their status on top of wizarding hierarchy.

One day, Harry was causally browsing for curses that generate Dragonscale Intestinal Ulcer. (Although Harry never found it, because, as he discovered later, the curse wasn't exactly on one's intestine, but on another— a soft, cylinder-shaped, uniquely male organ.)

He noticed a thin notebook tucked inside a gigantic, rusting tome. It was unique in its commonality, a simple little thing in wore-out black covers and the name _T.M. Riddle _listedin faded letter.

Harry noticed the book was bought fifty years ago somewhere on Vauxhall Road in London. A muggle article in the Malfoys' secret cache? Harry flipped though it and saw it was empty.

He tucked the book into his robe. It was the only item in the secret library small and thin enough for him to _borrow_ without being overtly conspicuous. Its leather cover felt cold against his bare skin—very ordinary indeed— but Harry thought he detected the faintest pulsing magic in its pages.

That night he spent all his free time studying the notebook. He tabbed it; he jibbed it; he tore it; he soaked it in soapy water and tossed it into the fireplace. Curiously, no matter what he had done, the book remained as it were, wore and crumpled and completely unharmed.

Excited, Harry dipped his quill into ink and dropped a blot on the first page of the diary.

The ink shone brightly for second and then it disappeared, as though being sucked into the pages.

Smiling, Harry wrote in a rapid scrawl, "My name is Harry Potter."

The words shone momentarily on the page before they, too, disappeared without a trance.

Harry waited and waited, then nothing happened.

He frowned, surely there's more? Harry traced his thumb over the smooth papyrus, he definitely felt magic underneath its layers, a sensation of pricking heats.

Harry wrote again, a little bit tidier this time and his pen etched the paper harshly. "Reveal your secrets to me."

At last, something happened. Oozing back out of the page, came his previous writings, in his own ink abet with a hand-writing not his own. Here they were: "_My name is Harry Potter_" and "_Reveal your secrets to me."_

Harry bit his lip and tried writing something else. Every time he got the same results— whenever Harry demands the diary to reveal its secret and signs his name along with it, the diary would regurgitate his pervious writing in full, although reproduced in a different hand-writing.

He couldn't help but feel disappointed. Somehow he thought the thing would be more than a fancy recording device. Harry truly believed he had stumbled on a Malfoy family hairloom. Yet, eventually, he did find a use for the diary. Harry used it to hide all his notes. He made a habit of sneaking to the secrete library and copied down all spells. Off course, he couldn't understand them at this age, but the writing provided him with an odd serenity. Besides, it gave him something to do, lounging around the vacuous manor with Draco all day can really drive a boy bonkers.

Few weeks after his initial discovery, Tom finally contacted him. While Harry was rapidly scribbling down ten fire curses, words he never written appeared on the page.

The writing scrawled, "_you should know, Harry Potter, curses are not the only way to kill a person."_

Harry was startled by the words, so much so he almost upset his ink bottle. The unfamiliar writing sank back into the pages, and vanished just as sudden as it appeared.

Harry paused and wrote back hesitantly. "What?— I'm not trying to kill anyone."

"_Oh? My apologizes," _came the reply._ "And honestly, I don't care either way_. _I was just bored by all dark spells you copied. I don't mind if you are particularly studious, Harry. But could I employee you try a different subject? Potions perhaps? Poisons, for example, can be quite useful. A change of scenery is always nice, you see, maybe even necessary for one's sanity._"

Harry paused, his quill hovering over the diary.

"You… you are sentient?"

"_In a way."_ The words appeared faster now, it strokes smoothed out and Harry could fully appreciate the mysterious, elegant calligraphy.

"_After all, I am a diary. Sentimentality is within our nature. Ah, where are my manners. My name is Tom Riddle, pleasure to meet you, Harry. I've wait so long for you."_

"You waited for me?" Harry replied suspiciously. In background, he thought he heard Narcissa calling for him

"_Yes, I've waited for fifty years. For a lucky soul to free me from this boredom. It seems you are it. Congratulations, my child, you have won the prize of my gratitude."_ Tom left the words lingered on the pages, as if daring Harry to ask for his reward.

"Really? Why didn't you reply sooner?" Harry demanded, writing furious so his fingers stained with ink.

"_I was asleep for a long time. It'll take me a while to recovery, I'm afraid. Magic is a patient process. Besides, the first time we met, I recalled you tried to burn me."_

"Sorry." Harry wrote again, he could clearly hear Narcissa summoning him for dinner, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the diary. "I didn't know. I couldn't, though, burn you. Or damage you in any way. What are you?"

There was a long pause. Harry wasn't sure if Tom was being dramatic or he was construing his words very carefully. Finally, the answer appeared.

"_I am a genie. Of the wish granting kind—"_

"_So tell me, Harry Potter, what would you wish for?"_

* * *

_/PAST/_

The first thing Harry learned about Tom was the guy had a weird sense of humour.

The second thing he learned was the spirit can be very persuasive. _Very persuasive, indeed._

Harry spent the next few months writing and conversing to Tom, daily, constantly. He fashioned a hidden layers from the bottom of his drawer to store the diary, but mostly he preferred to carry the notebook with him, under his robe, that way he can communicate with Tom any time he found himself alone. The diary's rough leather cover turned cold against his bare skin and Harry was occasionally alarmed by the way its magic ticked and latched onto him, snug like a second layer of skin. Yet he couldn't be without the thing.

In retrospect, Harry realized his behaviour was a bit erratic and irrational. Inch by inch, word by word, Tom managed to lure Harry into his fold, trapping him in his web of lies, subduing the boy with his promise of friendship, until the last tread has been spun and Tom was ready, as a patient hunter emerged from the darkness, to attack.

But Harry was desperate for a friend. Someone, anyone, he could share the truth with.

Because it was so hard pretending to forgot yourself— to forgot the only family you've ever known, to forget the brutal murder of your parents and to forget the fact that their killer walks free, revered and celebrated, a god among men. _To forget, except, when you remembered._

He certainly couldn't talk to Draco or Narcissa Malfoy. He liked his adopted brother and mother fine, but he couldn't trust them.

Draco was a timid and simple child. Pale and blue-eyed, with hair the colour of platinum gold, he was the splinting image of his father. Too bad Lucius didn't love the boy. The Malfoy patriarchy couldn't bring himself to admit his only son was a squib, the only one to appear in a Malfoy family in ten generations, no less.

When Harry arrived at the Malfoy manor, Lucius was busy conducting little projects— by projects he meant experimenting with obscure cures for the 'squib problem". Potions, rituals, even Muggle contraptions, whatever money can buy. But eventually Lucius gave up, either because he realized it was hopeless or because Narcissa was about to chew his head off.

Nevertheless, Harry liked Draco Malfoy.

The blonde boy was elated to have Harry as his brother, because none of the pure-blood children would play with him and Malfoys, off course, only socialize with pure-bloods. The boy was very energetic and a little timid, which mostly results from, in Harry's humble opinion, Narcissa's overprotectiveness, but he kind of liked that about her.

Narcissa Malfoy was a beautiful woman. Tall, with a frail frame and hair like the sun, Narcissa held the Malfoy household together. Although not a Death Eater or a ranker in the government, she was almost as busy as her husband. A natural-born socialite, she organized parties and events, held committees and charities— her duties are to reaffirm pure-bloods of their opulent ideals and distinct class, a quintessential fabric in the Dark Lord's society. _Soft power_, Lucius had called it.

Narcissa was kind to Harry. She spoke in firm, sweet tones and took good care of him. On those nights when he was too afraid to sleep (rampantly often in the early years) Narcissa would sit on the edge of his bed and sing lullabies softly to him in French. When she held Draco in her arms, her crystal blue eyes sparked in the same way as Harry's mum, although Narcissa carried herself with a refined self-assuredness that his mum never managed.

Despite her kindness, Harry couldn't bring himself to confide in her. He knew, with a perceptive certainty, if Narcissa ever perceived him to pose a danger to her family, she would threw him in the Department of Peace so fast, that even the most steadfast auror would be impressed.

So, instead, Harry confided in Tom.

Harry wrote about everything.

He wrote about his pervious life. Whatever small details he could remember about his parents— their playful banters, their favourite foods, his father's love for quidditch and his mother's numerous books. He wrote about uncle Sirius and uncle Remus, and that traitor Pettigrew.

He wrote about the Malfoys and his observation of them. Sometimes mundane things like what colour dresses Narcissa wore or how Draco likes to sneak into his bedroom late at night to prank him. He also shared his speculations about why Malfoys took him in— Are they after the Potter family properties? (But the Malfoys are rich enough as it is and Harry had no ownership anyways being underage.) Or are they trying to gain political influence by taking in a child from a prominent light family?

Tom had answered that, in his opinion, they want Harry to act legal guardian of the Malfoy estate, until Draco manages to have magical offspring. Tom then explained, in boring detail, all about the law of inheritance in pure-bloods houses (which frankly Harry didn't understand). Tom's theory made the most sense, Harry supposed, but he couldn't help feel a little resentment to being used as legal fodder.

Also, Tom was very helpful when it comes to disentangle pure-blood etiquette, which Harry grudgingly had to learn. (Because, really, who actually wants to know about the intricacy of a three-piece robe or the proper way to slice and distribute dragon balls at parties.)

Sometimes, Harry pestered Tom about magical knowledge, mostly about dark curse he found in the secret library. (Which, to his disappointment, Tom refused to tell him, explaining they were too dangerous for a kid. And Harry was _not_ a kid, mind you.) Tom was brilliant and exceptionally patient with him. The diary had an encyclopedia knowledge about everything. Often times, Tom would plump his explanations with colourful commentaries that never fail to make Harry laugh.

Overall, Tom was a very good pen pal. He was charming and witty, perceptive yet considerate. Tom mostly listened (figurative speaking, off course) to Harry's rumbles, offering words of comforts and encouragement when needed, sharing his counsel when prompted and posing fun distractions whenever the past threaten to swallow Harry whole.

Other times, Tom had questions of his own.

He was immensely curious about the outsider world, in particular about the workings of Dark Lord's government. He had Harry copied whole chapters from _The Rise of New Britain: a guide to modern history_ and _Important Figures in Modern Magic _(both written by Watson Muller), until Harry was so sick of writing that he finally resorted to pretending losing both books.

Tom also asked him to relay the news. The spirit was fascinated by everything, from disasters to nuptials to Quidditch world cup. Harry also described to Tom many of the funny gadgets in the Malfoy Manor; Harry had such a grand time trying to figure out their functions, he even enlisted Draco's help along the way.

And occasionally, very occasionally, they talked about Tom.

For someone with such refined verbal ability, Tom was rather inapt with a simple self-introduction. He told Harry many unimportant anecdotes, like his favourite foods or the names of authors he admired, but Tom always changed the subject whenever something personal came up. Sometimes, to placate the boy, Tom would spin a brilliant tale about Hogwarts or Dragon Alley or Irish Sea Mermen, full of adventure and twists, to dazzle Harry until his head spun and he forgot his original inquiries all together.

Harry supposed he could have pressed harder on the subject. _He should have._ In the end, though, Harry didn't dare to. Maybe because he didn't want Tom to be mad at him, the other had an inexorable ability to draw Harry into his fold. Maybe because, unconsciously, Harry didn't really wish to know; he didn't like thinking about his friend as a separate entity, since, if Tom was a real person and still is a person, then why is he trapped in a diary and what does it mean for Harry?

At last, Harry told Tom about his sixth birthday, about his parents' murder. But he couldn't bring himself to actually describe the event. Instead, Tom showed Harry how to separate his memory and share it with the book.

That, for good or ill, was how Harry found his sole purpose in life.

Tom stayed silent for a long time after Harry let the sliver thread of memory flow into the dairy. Harry didn't have a clue to how long Tom needs to process everything. So he sat, patiently waiting, until:

"_You are younger than I expected." _

Harry frowned. His pen halted on the paper. That wasn't the reaction he was hoping for, although he wasn't even sure what he was hoping for.

So instead he wrote down a question mark.

"_My apologizes. My friend, I simply don't know what to say... I wish I had a real body so I could hold you in my arms and comfort you somehow, because words fail me now. How… How are you feeling?"_

Harry tightened his grip on his pen. He realized this was the first time he ever talked to anyone about that day. Nausea settled over him and Harry began writing in earnest, first tentatively, but soon the words came pouring out of him.

"I… I don't know. I feel different depends on the day. Some days, I feel better, just a tingle of sadness and fear. Some days, I'm numb to it. And some days, I— I can't sleep at all, Tom. I think about them all the time. I see them in my dreams, smiling and laughing, then, screaming and running. They scream so loud… Green lights are everywhere and so bright that I couldn`t open my eyes. When I could— open my eyes— if I'm brave enough, I see him."

"Just him, staring back at me with those ugly eyes. Red and thin like a snake. Oh, and…his horrible laugh. Cutting like spears. So I ran— because I'm a coward—"

As Harry wrote, tears came pouring down his face, wetting the paper and causing the ink to dissolve. Harry dabbed at it with his sleeve, wanting to apologize to Tom, then feeling silly for thinking about it.

"You asked me what I would wish for…Tom." Harry wrote with some difficulties, blotting the paper with ink from his shaking hands. "I... I can tell you."

"I want my parents and my life back. But you can't give me that— can you, Tom?"

Tom paused. His words surfaced on the wet paper slowly.

"_No, I can't. I'm sorry, my friend."_

Harry laughed bitterly. Off course, even magic has it limits.

He wrote again. "I knew that. I always knew that. This is my life now and I should just accept it. Shouldn't I, Tom? …But I just can't. I— I feel so lost. I look around this expensive Manor, with its unfamiliar people and nothing… Nothing feels _right_. Do you understand me? Please, oh, please say you do. And can you tell me something?... Would… would I ever be happy again?"

Harry clutched the notebook tightly. He almost slammed the thing shut just to stop the emotions from flowing out of him. But instead he took up the pen again.

"Help me, Tom. _Please_."

The diary quivered a little bit like a satisfied animal. Gradually, Harry felt calmer as the thing seemed to soak up his emotions like it did his tears.

Tom's confident hand-writing returned.

"_Thank you for sharing this with me, Harry. I think you're too hard on yourself, child. You are an exceptional brave boy; from what I can see, you have handled everything as well as anyone could. Please, do not fret, all is not hopeless. It never is. Because I can help you. And I want to. But before I can give you my advice, let me offer you a gift in return for your confidence. I will show you my past. A secret for a secret. Since you are so interested in my stories, I trust you'll find this one — ah— most enlightening."_

The diary blew open like a tornado had swept through it. It landed on a page in April, then, a gleaming light filled the page. Harry leaned into the light. Before he knew what was happening, the light filled the room and Harry felt his body tilting forward, being pulled through the pages, into a swirl of color and shadow.

Harry landed in a mist of smokes, before his feet hit solid ground and a stone chamber materialized around him.

He was standing at the end of a long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with serpents, rose to a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.*

The damp coldness fogged Harry's glasses. Combined with the dim lights, he could barely see five feet in front of him. He backed away in confusion, stepping into a paddle of water yet his feet remained dry. His back bumped into something hard. Harry looked up.

A statue high as the chamber itself loomed over him. At first its features were blurred like old photographs, but as soon as Harry's eyes focused, its structure sharpened and its white marbled surface gleamed greenish grey. It had a giant face, ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth chamber floor.*

Harry heard a noise of splashing water and his attention instantly snapped back to chamber corridor.

A boy in dark grey robe strode toward him. His swagger held all the causality of a walk in the park on a nice sunny day, as if the dark chamber was as pleasant as any floral meadow.

As he came closer, Harry could see he was about sixteen, much taller than Harry, but with dark hair the same shade of mid-night black. The boy was very handsome with pale skin and chiseled features, although Harry was more interesting in the oddly coloured goggle perched on his nose.

A strange sense of familiarity struck Harry. But he was sure he had never met the other boy before.

The boy stopped in front of the statue, directly facing Harry, and withdrew his wands, pointing it toward the ceiling. An odd little smile danced on his red lips. Hogwarts symbol was embroiled in gold threads on his right breast pocket and next to it, a prefect badge glinted sliver.

"Tom?" Harry yelled, with some certainly, although not sure how he knew. At the long-awaited sight of his friend, Harry chest danced with joy and curiosity. He rushed forward suddenly with his arms held open.

"My goodness, is that really you, Tom?" Harry flashed a toothy grin. "Wow! You are also younger than I expected—"

Tom did not look at him.

Instead, he looked up at the face of the stone statue. His smile grew wider, more twisted. Tom flicked his wand and the torches on the pillars lit up, one by one, until the entire chamber enveloped in a flaming light.

The lights almost blinded Harry. As he bent over covering his eyes, Harry heard the most terrible hissing fell from Tom's lips. It sounded like whispers of the wind or rustling of sand paper, but Harry instantly recognized the sound.

"No," a broken whisper escaped him.

A horrible sensation tied Harry's stomach to knots. With shaky hands, he reached out to grab the other's sleeve, only to find the grey fabric dissolving into a swirl of smoke. Harry stared, as soon as his hands moved away, the smoke condensed back to solid shape, dark flowing fabric that look perfectly real.

High above him, bathed in orange from newly-lit flames, the statue's face moved. Horror-struck, Harry saw its mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.*

And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.*

A huge, long creature flicked out from the opening like a deformed tongue. It was an enormous serpent, bigger than any creature Harry had ever seen, bright, poisonous green, body thick as oak trunk and scales sharp like tiny spikes. It hit the ground with a loud thud and slithered toward them.

Tom laughed, a joyous roar that echoed in the empty chamber. Tom's hiss grew louder and the serpent swayed its head in response.

"NO!" Harry cried. He backed away as the creature's great, bulbous yellow eyes turned on him.

He began running down the empty chamber, as the creature chased after him. It instantly caught him.

The snake bowled him over. _Well, not exactly._ It ran straight through him, its saber-like fans dissolved into smoke upon contact. The serpent did not notice Harry as it moved with impossible speed and disappeared into a tunnel at the end of the chamber.

Harry breathed fast, his chest heaved as through he just ran a marathon. Behind him, Tom's maniacal laughter seemed to follow him until the chamber began to spin.

Harry turned around, just in time to see Tom taking off his goggles. The fog seemed to play tricks on Harry's mind, because he saw, on the face of the boy he calls friend, a pair of blood-red eyes, alight with devious ecstasy.

The whole room faded into smoke.

The last thing Harry remembered was the red-eyes and a whisper as quiet as the wind.

"_Don't afraid, Harry. She won't hurt you. I won't hurt you."_

Harry landed back in the secret library, awkwardly, on all-fours. The notebook had fallen from his lap and lay peacefully beside his glasses. Harry scuttled away from it.

Harry was sudden overcome with a desire to burn the diary and to have Dobby carry its ashes to the edge of world to dump into the ocean. But Harry picked his pen and opened the book again.

Tom had already written something on the first page.

"_I hope I didn't frighten you—too badly, at least."_

"What—" Harry began to write, but his hands shook too much to function.

"_I had to show you something grand, dramatic, so you I will believe me when I make my promise."_

"What—" Harry tried again, then it clicked. "A memory?"

"_Yes, quite astute of you."_ Tom replied quickly. "_One of my fondest, actually. First time I met Babe, a magnificent creature, isn't she? It was love at first sight, if I do say so myself—"_

"Babe?" Harry answered hesitantly. His mouth hung open in sheer disbelief. The terror he felt seemed stupid now, surely he knew Tom, as well as Tom knew him… right?

"_Yes, apparently she was named after Babylon, her birth-place. But in Parseltongue, 'L' sounds don't translate very well. And, well— I think it suits her well enough, don't you, Harry?"_

Harry decided not to answer.

"Parseltongue… you…?"

"_Well, yes, that is why I wanted to talk to you. Harry, although I cannot give you your parents back, I can give you something to thrive for. "_

Tom's writing turned frantic, as if the other wasn't sure of his words but was eager to tell it anyways.

"_I think we are similar in many ways. Maybe that's why I'm drawn toward you. You see, I am also an orphan. Someone who was denied his rightful heritage, by injustice and by cruel fate. We even look somewhat alike. Don't we? Like you, I had to grow up relying only on myself, because I couldn't trust anyone either... Not after the betrayal that had killed my mother. NO. I swore such thing will never, ever happen to me. The road for a young, powerful wizard is dangerous and harsh, I don't want you go through it alone, Harry, like I did—"_

"_I, too, once, was confused as you are. I had no direction in life. As I grew as older, I accumulated knowledge, influence and wealth beyond your wildest dream, but nothing could satisfy me. I couldn't help but think about the man who betrayed my mother. And how that betrayal killed her as surely as if he had drawn the knife himself. So, one day, I killed him— and it was glorious. I cannot describe the catharsis I felt that moment. I was happy, Harry, happier than ever before. It was as if justice sprung from his blood and cleansed me, released me to live my life. My own way. Harry, my friend, I want you to experience the same."_

Harry gasped.

"_Don't tell me you never thought about it?" _

"I—" Harry's eyes widened as his hands seemed to move on their own. "I do. All the time. But…But it can't be done, he is the king of Britain and I'm just a boy—"

"_Ah, maybe now you're just a boy. But you have power, Harry, trust in that. Even Voldemort recognized it. And you have opportunities which he knows not—namely me. "_

"_There lies another similarity between us. Voldemort is our greatest enemy. Yours and my. You see, Harry, the man you know as Dark Lord Voldemort, the King of Magic, the Heir of the great Slytherin house, is not who he says he is. He is a liar. And a coward. And a fraud. Do you know what the statue in the chamber you saw is? It is the statue of Salazar Slytherin, the greatest of the Hogwarts four. The basilisk was his pet, a one-thousand-years old relic, and only the true heir of Slytherin can call upon her."_

"_Don't you know what this means, Harry? Don't you see? I am the true heir of Slytherin. Not Voldemort, no, no, NO. His real name is Marvolo Gaunt, he was my… cousin, a inbred psychopath. But I had trusted him, I had helped him, because he was a parselmouth, a blood-relation. And how did he repay me?! By locking me up in this blasted book, with nothing but darkness for companionship— for fifty years. Fifty! Do you have any idea how it makes my blood boil to hear… to hear how dare he claim my throne! How dare he sully the Slytherin name! I hate betrayals more than anything, and, I'm afraid, the only thing that'll cure this burning hatred is sweet vengeance."_

"_So, here, I propose to you a partnership, my friend. I want you by my side and, together, we will take down Voldemort and his government. You will get the justice you deserve, as will I—"_

"But your eyes—" Harry quickly interrupted, "they are the same as his."

"_No, they're not. My eyes are red due to a curse placed upon me by Voldemort…and I got him back for it, see… And Harry, really, you've seen his ugly, inhuman mug, please don't tell me you see any resemblance between us."_

Harry stroked the paper in thought. He couldn't quite comprehend his luck. Tom's every word struck his heart—everything he wanted to hear, almost too good to be true. He wondered if Tom could feel the emotions tumbling through his vein. He bet Tom could, as the diary's magic almost purred in response.

"_I could understand your hesitance. It is a lot to take in. But I'm patient, I'll wait for you."_

"How do I know I can trust you?" Harry finally responded.

"_I swear to you, Harry Potter, on my mother's honour and on my father's grave, that I will always tell you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I swear to you that I want Voldemort dead and I will do everything in my power to help you achieve your goal."_

"…You think I can do it?"

"_Yes, I can make you into the greatest wizard ever lived. I just… I just need you to trust me. My friend—Harry—can you do that?"_

An incredulous laughter escaped Harry's lips. _Off not, _his conscious huffed.

"Yes." He wrote without hesitation.

Harry clutched the dairy close to his heart. Mad laughter fell from his lips. Tears stained his green eyes as Harry doubled over, still hugging the diary tight, as if his very life depend upon it.

The hidden door amongst the shelves slide open and a little blonde boy peaked in.

"What is so funny? Harry," Draco Malfoy inquired loudly. "And what is that bright light few minutes ago?"

He skipped toward Harry's frozen form, and poked the leather-bound notebook curiously.

"What is _that_?"

* * *

**Author's rambling:**

* Lifted verbatim from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. 'Cause I'm lazy.

Thanks you for reading! (Presumably you've read the chapter if you are looking here, right?)

I will have a lot of time-skips back and forth, like in a tennis match. Basically the narrative will jump between the past and the present (which is Harry's seventh-year), because it's fun this way. I will tried to make it as clear as possible whenever I switch timelines, but let me know if it gets confusing or something.

Special thanks to my reviewers; again, you guys are epitome of awesome: **J.F.C, Aguna, Q3APo, Cupcak3, Finding-u-through-time-n-space, Celestialuna, Hi. Pot. And. News, Picas Lei-Fur.**


	6. Little Ward Master

**Chapter 5**

"_Accio armchair_!"

Harry quickly summoned a chair to block Tom's cutting curse, correctly grasping that this particular curse was deigned to break through the _Protego_. The chair splintered in magnificent fashion, sending large chuck of woods flying in all directions. Harry took no time to breath. With a wave of his wand, he transfigured all the wooden chucks into huge vultures and sent them flying toward Tom, fast and over-whelming like a destructive storm. Swarms of dark feathers and sharp talons covered Tom instantly, blocking him from Harry's view.

Harry nodded in satisfaction. Normal shield charms wasn't designed to protect against the attack of living creatures, after all, how many wizards you expect to ever engage in a physical fight? That right, zero. _Oh, it's not proper_, Harry could almost them say, _and don't forget to bowl before your duel, young man_. Stupid_…__ let someone else care about their manners,_ Harry thought, _I rather stay alive. _

Harry took a second to admire his handy-work. It was a rather impressive spell— to be able to transfigure multiple objects simultaneously, while maintaining sufficient detail within each piece to fool Tom's magic. _Professor Mcgonagall would be so proud._

"_Aduroscentia_!"

A ring of black flames sprung around Tom, a wall of dancing darkness extending to the ceiling, and rapidly burnt all of the vultures to crisp. Centered in the ring of fire, Tom's amused red-eyes found Harry. The cuts on his faces bled slightly and his blond-hair was comically scruffy, but Tom didn't seem too bothered by it. He raised an eye-brow (as if saying _oh__,__ is that it?_) and sent another cutting curse hurling toward Harry.

Harry ducked this one by diving to the opposite end of the room. _Argh_, he knew he shouldn't be distracted by the thoughts of Professor Mcgonagall during a duel with Tom.

Spells flew rapidly between them, a fluent dance of lights and colours, and magic that smashed everything in their path into pieces.

The Room of Requirement always looked a mess when they are done with their practises— floor full of broken glass, burned and peeling walls and furniture sliced in halves or thrown on top of each other. Harry appreciated the Room being able to heal itself, or else some of the house elves might get suspicious and report them to the Headmaster, many times over by now.

Tom started training Harry in defensive magic in their second year. Spells and curses, dark or light, Tom had no restraints in his teaching. _Use whatever works,_ he told Harry, _unforgivables, basic charms, cheats and lies, it doesn't matter._ _Remember,_ Tom laughed when he proclaimed grandly, _adoration and glory belong to the winner, while death is left for the loser. _

Then Tom would force Harry into _applying_ his skills as soon possible. Harry remembered those early duels— when he couldn't stand for more than a minute before Tom knocks him out with some particularly nasty hex. So Harry ended up having to learn lots of healing charms. _Lots_. And, as it turns out, pain was a particularly effective motivator; quickly, Harry grew into a dueler worthy of his ambitions.

Tom insisted for them to practise combat in environments that stimulate real situations, so Harry can learn to efficiently utilize his surroundings. Right now, the Room of Requirement produced for them the living room of an old manor (which looked suspiciously like the Malfoy Manor) with beautiful antique furniture and a large soaring fireplace. Too bad it looked like a mountain troll just threw a tantrum in here.

Harry hissed in pain as one of Tom's curses smacked into his rib, almost knocking him off his feet. An ugly burn the size of a bludger surfaced on his skin, but Harry didn't have time to recover, as he whirled aside to dodge another curse.

Tom hadn't moved from his corner. He had, theoretically, taken the most advantageous position in the whole room, where he could attack easily while maintain good visualization on Harry.

As Tom continued his spells, he called out.

"Stop running away. Haven't I taught you the best defense is a good offense, dear apprentice? Don't disappoint me now."

Harry didn't respond. Instead, he danced around Tom's spells carefully as he went around the room. It seemed Tom was only using dark curses today, nothing too surprising. When the most of the furniture in the room had been leveled by their fight, Harry thought he's ready.

"_Ventismoi_!" Harry shouted, then suddenly dashed toward the opposite end of the room. He pointed his wand toward Tom.

Brutal winds gushed from his wand tip like water rising from a spring. They stirred the room and blew up dust, broken wooden pieces and black feathers left behind by Harry's vultures. The debris surrounded Tom, trapping him in a column of opaque twister.

"_Stupify_!" Harry yelled. A red light flew toward Tom's corner. A dull sound told Harry his curse was deflected by Tom's shield.

Tom laughed. He remained completely protected against the winds from behind his shield charm.

"Trying to obstruct my vision? Good start, I suppose, but don't forget— if I can't see you, then you can't see me either."

Harry sent a couple more hexes in rapid success. He put as much power as he can into those spells, until he felt a faints crack appeared in Tom's shield.

"Now!" Harry shouted toward the ceiling.

A scurry of dark feathers emerged from the chandelier. The lone vulture flapped its enormously wings and glided toward Tom, in its talons, dangled a chain attached to a metallic, golden pendant, a medallion small enough to fit in Harry's palm. The metal glinted like shooting star.

Harry guided the bird with his magic until it dived into eye of the twister. Descending with the speed of bullets, the vulture slammed pass Tom's shield and dropped the medallion at his feet.

Harry activated his ward. The golden medallion glowed as bright lights burst from it, like sunlight descending from heaven. The lights consumed Tom along with the gushes of wind, and Harry felt his magic fill the room. As the lights grew, the ward shattered Tom's shield and momentarily immobilized the blonde boy.

Harry raised his wand. His green eyes met surprised red ones.

"_Expelliarmus_." Harry said simply. Then he grabbed Tom's wand as if flew toward him.

The debris fell clumsily on the floor; black feathers dissolved along with the last vulture, vanished into thin air as magic receded from the room. The battle had been won.

Tom picked up the medallion, now calm and dull like any piece of jewel. He held it against the light and read the runes engraved on its surface.

"A warden's key?" He walked toward Harry and held out his hand. His robe was rather tattered with scratch marks and jagged rips, although his face was no longer bleeding.

"Yes," replied Harry as he handed Tom's wand back to him. Now the adrenaline left him, Harry realized that his wrist region ached with a burning fury. He reached down to touch the burned flash, but Tom's hands caught his, then Tom shook his head.

"Oh? How interesting. Explain what it does," Tom commanded lazily.

Harry bit his lips in annoyance; Tom never acknowledged his victory, yet the spirit would gloat pettily if he had beaten Harry. _Never plays fair, that jerk._ The burn itched terribly and now green pus oozed from his wound.

"It's a warden's key, duh, so it holds wards. Made it myself, out of Valyrian gold and anchored with my own magic. It's still an experiment, more or less. Luckily it didn't explode on you, right, Tommy?"

Harry tried and failed to free his hands. The itch got worst, almost unbearable, and Harry had to force out his words.

"I designed the ward to expel its power outward, releasing the stored magic like a tiny bomb, as oppose to your _boring_ average wards, which hold magic steady like a solid dome. I want a different ward: one that, instead of holding objects in, can break though things — for example, your shield charm. To be more specific, I am trying to create a ward that, rather than holding people, can hold spells. Any spell ideally, but… but I'm only starting to have limited success with a few charms, and overall… well, let's just say things are not going so well— because wards are very specific and spells are very specific… and so… they just don't fix."

"Very specific? For example, it'll need feathers?" Tom raised an eye-brow.

Harry shrugged. "All wards are very specific. Even magic has its limitations–" He grinned smugly at Tom. "Congratulations, you are my first human trial, and I think it went rather well. What do you think, dear brother?"

Tom frowned. He apparently didn't like the way Harry copies his arrogant drawl. He crushed Harry's fingers in his palm and pulled the boy closer to his body.

Tom asked, "I see, is that why you need all those feathers?"

"I realized you tagged those birds with your magic, with excessive amount, might I add. So you planned to stabilize your ward with magic residue on the feathers, and … oh, I see. The key stores magic. Instead of storing stable magic, you tried to store spells— a _Petrificus Totalus_ in this one, right?— However, this makes the ward unstable and you need to use your own magic to suppress it. Hence the trouble with the birds—"

Tom tilted his head to look at Harry. The warm feeling of the other's hands jolted Harry and Harry turned his attention to Tom. With some curiosity, he noticed Tom's eyes were shifting colour rapidly. Red, then blue, then red again.

"I don't see the point though," Tom continued. "Too much energy is wasted this way. There are many other ways to break shield charms… much easier ways. Pay a little attention to my lessons next time. You may still learn something."

"I said it's only in experimental stage," Harry hissed. "Let go of my hands. I need to reverse whatever is it you've cursed me with, because it _fucking_ hurts."

To Harry's surprise, Tom yielded and released him. The head boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tube. He gestured to the burn on Harry's side.

"Strip." Tom commanded. "Medicine."

Harry felt incredibly awkward standing in front of Tom, shirtless, as the other boy slowly applied the ointment on his wound. Tom was surprisingly gentle. He patiently dabbed the cream onto Harry's rib with his long fingers. The ointment felt cool where it contacts his skin and the itch subsided instantly.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Tom was standing way too close, with one hand holding his wrist and the other working on the wound. Tom's eyes were down-cast and Harry felt rather exposed as the spirit scrutinized his lightly tanned skin with unreadable intensity. Harry looked away in embarrassment. His eyes found the chandelier—

"Wait a minutes," Harry suddenly blurted out. "When did you realize I tagged those vultures with my magic? Does that mean—"

"Yes, that means I've noticed the one hiding in the chandelier as well," Tom replied without looking up. "I was just curious to your plan, so I played along. And, yes, that means I _let_ you win."

"No, you didn't." Harry frowned, "You were very surprised by my ward. I saw it. I know I did, since I was watching you very closely—"

Tom shot him a smug look, a faint amusement danced in his reddish blue-eyes.

"I'll admit I was a little surprised. After all, I'm no expert in warding. That's your speciality, my little Ward Master. But that doesn't mean I didn't let you win— I did— did you know you were so intent on your plan, that you dropped your shield charms couple of times? I could've taken you out, any time I wanted."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but decided it sounded too childish.

Instead, he said, "We'll just have to agree to disagree, then. Also, may I point out I'm not a Ward Master… yet. Still a Journey Man, I'm afraid. Now if only you'll let me take the exams—"

"Let's not have this argument again," Tom waved his hand, his pale fingers stained green by the medicine. "I told you our objectives require a certain amount of _discretion_. If a child passes the Ministry's exams and becomes a Ward Master at seventeen, surely there'll be some news and all sorts of attention will fall onto said child… And we don't want that, do we?"

"I'm not a child—" Harry replied and immediately regretted his choice of words.

He pursed his lips. If Tom wanted discretion, then why did he acting so strangely with Ginevra Weasley earlier in the evening?

Tom pulled out his wand and murmured a spell. The green ointment melted on command, a light scent of freshly cut grass filled the air as Harry's wound disappeared. Not a trance of the burn left behind, only bare skin as smooth as new.

"Argh—" Harry yelped when Tom poked him in the rib.

"You're entirely too skinny," Tom said. "Take care of yourself, child. Can't have my little assassin-to-be fainting due to malnutrition, can I? Speaking of which, I have a gift for you, Harry. I dare to say you'll _love_ it."

Harry glared at Tom suspiciously as the blonde boy pulled a file from his robe.

"I have an assignment for you. This is time— an order for someone you're quite familiar with, I believe," said Tom as he handed the blue file to Harry.

Harry took the thing cautiously. He knew what this meant—blue is for the marked, Death Eaters who they are trying to assassinate. Starting this year, Tom had begun to trust him on solo missions, and so far Harry had some limited success, although Harry never really got used to that awful feeling of blood on his hand, sticky and raw.

A photo and three pages of information were in the folder. The three pages listed crucial details— the location and time of operation, the schedule and habits of the target and ancillary concerns (such as name and presence of family or neighbours). Harry stared at the photo—it showed a plump man with small, blinking, watery eyes and a pointed nose. He was nervously pushing his thin, mousy brown hair back, trying to cover (with no success) his bold spot. _Peter Pettigrew__._

"I…Thank you," Harry said simply as he looked at Tom. "I'll get it done."

Tom shrugged, "my pleasure. Here's the plan. You'll need to do it over Halloween weekends. During the Hogsmeade trip on Sunday. Go stake out Pettigrew's cabin around nine—by which he should home alone— and get it done. Be back in Hogwarts by twelve at the latest, I'll cover for you until then."

Harry clutched the files tight. A devious smile found its way onto his lips. _Oh, how long have he waited for this._

Tom peered at him with intense scrutiny.

"Harry, listen. It's a simple extermination mission. In and out. No lingering, no talking and especially, and I mean especially, no emotional tantrum. Do you understand me?"

Harry nodded. Tom scrutinized him for a little longer before pulling out the medallion and draping it over Harry's neck. The golden pendent sat peacefully against Harry's chest, and Harry felt his own magic swirling inside the circle, thumping and warm, in sync with his heartbeat.

"Keep this, it looks good on you." Tom smirked and brought his right hand up to touch the medallion.

His other hand stayed on Harry's wrist. By the soft touches of his brother's fingers, Harry was reminded of his nakedness and a tint of rose coloured his cheeks.

The ward's magic beat faster now. It reacted to Tom's magic instinctively, as Harry's own magic surely would've done. Tom moved closer to inspect the object. _Too close__._ Harry could feel Tom's hot breath tickling his neck. His own magic flared.

"Wait—" Harry interpreted, mostly in want to disrupt this _tension_ (or whatever it was) between them. "What…What happen to your magic? It's almost completely gone—"

"Oh?" Tom asked and turned facing Harry. Now Harry could see Tom's eyes were completely blue, unreadable like the depthless sea.

"Yes." Harry nodded, more assertively. He was sure of it now. After all, reading magic level was as natural to him as breathing, being a ward conjurer and all. "Your magic level is dangerously low, Tom. How can it be? Only this morning, we just –"

"Kissed?" Tom supplied helpfully, which Harry ignored.

"— exchanged magic. You should be fine for the whole week. What… what have you been doing, Tom?"

Harry immediately recognized the mask slipping onto Tom's face. The other's blue-eyes regarded him coolly, immovable and cold like his occlumens shield.

"_Damn it_, Tom. Just tell me the truth for once!" Harry snapped bitterly. The familiar sense of frustration resurfaced within. "We are on the same team, aren't we?"

**"_Tom_…**_**I can**__**…**__** I can help you...**__** I want to**_."

With the sudden switch to parseltongue, Tom tensed and tightened his grasp on Harry's wrist. His nails dug into Harry's flesh momentarily, before Tom released him suddenly and backed away.

"_**This ****doesn't concern you, brother **__**dear **__**,**__**"**_ drawled Tom as he stared into Harry's eyes. Something flicked in those sea-like blue, but nothing that Harry recognized.

_**"**__**All you need to know is... is that I would never hurt you**__**—**__**"**_

"Oh please!" Harry yelled, frustration bubbling to the surface like a bursting dam.

"_**Bullshit**_. You been telling me that since —WHAT — since I was nine. TOM! Don't you dare—"

Harry wasn't sure why he done it.

Maybe he done it to stop Tom from moving away; maybe he done it to wipe that cold blankness from Tom's face; and maybe, just maybe, Harry felt a twinge of concern for the spirit as he had never seen Tom's magic level so low. Normally the other's power flared endlessly like molten lava, never was it as faint as now, as if Tom wasn't real, merely an impression fainting from this world.

Harry grabbed Tom's tie and yanked him forward suddenly, crushing their lips together in clumsy aggression. Harry felt Tom's body stiffen, but the blonde boy didn't resist. Their lips pressed hot against each other. Harry tasted blood, whether his own or Tom's, he couldn't tell.

Harry focused his magic, then dumped them— all at once— flooding through his lips into Tom's body. He imagined such a sudden influx of power would be very uncomfortable, but Harry was too angry to do this gently. He was rather surprised when Tom suddenly responded. Harry felt a burning pressure on his lips as Tom leaned into their contact, the other's hands around his wrist, holding him tight.

After breaking apart, they stared at each other for a moment. Harry panted heavily, and now his own magic level was dangerously low. He shivered involuntarily as a cool drift blew pass him. The medallion vibrated excitedly in his chest.

Harry was satisfied to see the other boy's mask dissolved wholly. Tom's eyes widened with surprise, bright and scarlet as they focused on Harry. Tom opened his mouth.

"_Not a word out of you_—" Harry growled and he licked the blood from his lips. "And give me back my shirt. It's cold in here."

* * *

**Author's rambling:**

Special thanks to my reviewers— **Celestialuna, brightsun89, Alice, bri, Zana20, Aguna, Picas Lei-Fur, Guest, semexx, J.F.C and C Elise**

So we are back to present again… I hope this format is okay.

I also need to give credit where credit is due: Valyrian is lifted from Game of Thrones. The Ministry of Peace and Ministry of Plenty is lifted from 1984 (and if you read that book, you know what they are :)

* * *

**CUT SCENE #2 – ****"****available exclusive in DVD and Blue Ray****"****:**

Tom: "By the way, where did you get those Valyrian gold? Aren't they worth their weight in diamonds or something?"

Harry: "Yep. Extremely expensive on the open market. Which is precisely why I didn't go to the open market—"

Tom: "?"

Harry (grins sheepishly): "I kinda of melted some of Narcissa's jewelleries… I mean she has so many, is not like she'll miss them, will she?"

Tom: "… Were those from a box with three ravens engraved on it?"

Harry (nods enthusiastically): "Yes! That huge red one, made from walnut wood, I think…"

Tom (eye twitches): "I see… she's going to kill you. Those were a part her dowry—the ravens are the sigil of the Black house— very precious things, I'll imagine. Maybe even some heirlooms."

Harry (frowns): "OH! That makes sense. There were some protection charms on them…but I broke through easily enough."

Tom: "…"

Harry (similes sweetly): "Hey, Tommy. You know I think you're brilliant and awesome, the greatest wizard since Merlin, right?"

Tom: "… What do you want?"

Harry: "Oh, not much. Just a little favour for your poor brother. Do you mind telling Narcissa you took her jewellery?"

Tom: "No."

Harry: "But… but… please? She'll never get mad at her Draky-poo—"

Tom: "NO… and DON'T CALL ME THAT!"

Harry: "But… but… I just helped you."

Tom (raise eye-brow): "By forcefully kissing me?"

Harry (splutters): "Er… by giving you my magic. Admit it, you need my help sometimes."

Tom (raise eye-brow again): "I need you to force me into a kiss?"

Harry: "NO! For Salazar's sake, could you stop repeating _that_!"

Tom (smirks): "What? The kiss? "

Harry: "IT WASN'T A KISS!"

Tom: "Hey, don't get crossed at me. You _kissed_ me."

Harry: "AHHHHHHHH! It wasn't a kiss! It was a transaction, no more no less."

Tom: "Oh really? Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, then"

Harry: "Look… are you going to help me or not?"

Tom: "Let me think about it…Maybe I could…But only if you admit you love me."

Harry: "WHAT! I DO NOT!"

Tom (feigns confusion): "Then why did you kiss me?"

Harry: "I DID NOT KISS YOU!"

Tom (mockingly): "Oh? So I'm not special? You just go around kissing random people? How terrible, now my feelings are hurt. Excuse me—" (Tom walks away) "Have fun with Narcissa, dear."

Harry: "##$%%#$^"


	7. WWW

**Chapter 6**

Harry walked briskly through Hogsmeade, navigating between the seas of students with relative ease. He pulled his cloak tighter around him and made sure his face was well hidden under it.

Around him, dotting every shop window and on every door, Halloween decorations were out in full force. Small pumpkins hung from the roofs and jingled like bells every times someone walked by. Animated skeletons howled at them in broken sentences, pleading passers-by to check out their shops or to try out a brand of beer.

Even the Ministry caught the holiday spirit. The surveillance drones they employed, a collection of uniform fist-sized robins, were also decked out in Halloween colours. With their newly spelled orange feathers, amongst the grey buildings, they were much more conspicuous than usual. Harry signed; he never noticed how many there were. Now he counted one per every few meters, perched silently on windowsills, rotating their heads left and right in robotically unity.

Nobody knew where these birds came from or how they worked exactly. All they knew was these things are the Ministry's spies, tiny recording devices designed to penetrate public spaces and private homes, to catch incriminatory conversations and bring the recorded messages back to the Ministry. In the beginning, lots of people were apprehended this way, and, rightly or wrongly, executed for treason. The public caught on quickly though. Now no one dared to speak their honest opinions anymore, whether in public or in their own homes. _Because, in Voldemort's New Britain, nowhere is safe and anyone can be a spy— that's the way it always was— Harry had never knew anything else._

Harry turned a corner onto a much emptier street. The buildings on either side of the narrow cobble road appeared like identical grey boxes. They were all new houses, crammed next to each other in concrete blocks; some of the windows were boarded up and others were covered by newspaper. The festivity died down as the number of shops dwindled, although the number of drone-robins increased greatly.

Harry let out a sign of relief. There were few Hogwarts students here, so he didn't expect to run into anyone he knows. Hogsend Alley was the neighbourhood for plebeians, hooligans and muggle-borns—not a place any self-respecting Slytherin will wander to. Harry quickened his steps. He wanted to finish this errand fast. He was on a tight schedule, after all, since he always allowed himself proper time to scout locations before each mission.

The chilling October wind stirred up dust in the empty street and lifted some litters into the air. Few Ministry-issued wanted posters flew toward Harry and he caught them. These were all familiar faces— an old man with a single crazy eye, another with lion-like beard and a women with spiky purple hair— the Undesirables, the enemy of magic, blood-traitors, saboteurs and minions of Undesirable #1— Professor Albus Dumbledore, leader of the light and the ex-headmaster of Hogwarts.

Harry privately thought very little of Mr. Dumbledore, even though he never met the man. He never liked the Professor, not since he had found out, near the end of war, Dumbledore abandoned a lot of light families, including his own, and escaped to France with a small band of supporters. Besides, the old man wasn't much to look at, a beguine-looking old man with a croaked nose and long sliver beards. Hard to believe this man was the world's best bet against Voldemort. _Hey, say what you want about Voldemort, but at least the guy looks like a Dark Lord (albeit a very ugly one, but…still…he's terrifying)._

Currently, Professor Dumbledore spent a lot of time on the lecture circuit, touring around Europe to speak out against Voldemort's reign and to enlist supports from different governments for his rebel cause. Also, occasionally, the Order of Phoenix will pop up here and there, in some terrorist attack or gruesome murder. In general, this would be followed by a flurry of activity within the Ministry, including many over-time effort by the folks at Department of Truth (to churn out propaganda materials) and by aurors at Department of Peace (to conduct raids).

Harry supposed he should be grateful to Dumbledore and his Order. After all, they took up the bulk of the Ministry's attention, so Tom and he can conduct their operations in peace…er, metaphorically speaking.

In fact, Tom deliberately took advantage of the situation— often, it was too easy planting clues for the Ministry, pointing them down the wrong road, toward the Order. Harry suspected that aurors, themselves, were too eager to follow that particular line of thought, because funding come pouring in whenever Dumbledore's name is mentioned. Harry should know, since he often overheard Lucius complain about it.

So far, though assassinations, Tom and Harry had taken down ten Death Eaters, which, Harry thought, makes them much more effective than the Order. And in the process, they had become quite famous — or rather infamous— in their own right.

After the third murder, the press took notice and made a huge wave about this new serial killer targeting Death Eaters. _The audacity of this brute,_ wrote one reporter, _to terrorize_ _the whole country by targeting these outstanding civil servants_. _We will not stand of such meaningless act of violence_, fumed another, _our hearts and souls are with the families and the Dark Lord_. And yet, the media kept pushing the story. They wrote about every graphic detail, and denounced every graphic detail, then talked about it some more.

Sometimes, it amused Harry to read the crazy speculations. Everything linked to the deaths was sensationalized. The reports spread like wild fire, speculations mixed with facts until neither can be distinguished. With reports coming from all directions, the Ministry was overwhelmed with reported sightings of the killer and their force was spread thin by demands of paranoid politicians. After their last kill, the untimely death of Judge Yaxley, facts had become story and story had grown into legend. _Which_, Harry believed, _was exactly what Tom wanted._

The media even anointed the killer with a nickname — Lady Tee— short for Lady Themis, Lady Justice, the Greek goddess of law and divine order. Much to the Ministry's (and Harry's) chagrin, this particular name stuck after it was reported one of the victims was blindfolded by a red silk scarf.

Harry had done so first by accident. He didn't like the way the corpse's eyes followed him while Tom ransacked his house, so he grabbed a scarf on the table and placed it over the man's head. Afterward, a crime scene photo was published in the Daily Prophet, a dead man with a scarlet blindfold against his ghastly pale flesh, the red scarf spilling into a pool of blood, indistinguishable in the black-and-white photo. That was the last photo the Ministry allowed the press to publish about the case and its impact was ever-lasting.

For once, the Department of Truth was slow to respond to public opinion, which was highly unlike them, being the esteemed propaganda experts and all. First, they tried to spin the story as another of the Order's sabotage (as they do to _everything_) and after a while, as the killer's fame grew, they came down hard on the "free press" and severely restricted reporting on the subject. By then, it was too late. The Lady took on a life of her own, and the public's imagination fed into her image, creating a figure as well known and as real as anyone, like Dumbledore or Voldemort.

See, the Department of Truth misread the fundamentals of public opinion. Some people may love the Ministry, some may champion their policies, but most only tolerate it. The public complied out of fear and ignorance, not love. _And now someone is showing them there's nothing to be afraid of._

Tom had a riot when he first heard that name. For a whole year, he had taken to calling Harry my lady in private. Once the news reports came pouring in, Tom decided to augment their fame. For the subsequent death, they displayed the bodies in increasingly _interesting_ fashions, always starting with a red, velvet blindfold. To be honest, Harry found the whole process rather gross, and disturbing, especially since he suspected Tom enjoys it a bit too much.

Tom always selected their victims carefully. He always chose Death Eaters with recent run-ins with Order of Phoenix. _So everyone knew_— Lady Justice strikes when her subjects are wronged. After that, they can draw their own conclusions. Connecting the dots between two of the Ministry's biggest enemies ought to be easy. Because it was only natural, after all, who else would be barbaric enough to _target these outstanding civil servants?_

Harry supposed that he should be upset, because, by definition, a famous assassin is a bad assassin.

Yet, Harry understood why Tom wanted their name to be known. Tom had greater ambitions than just to kill his enemies. He was serious about take the throne from Voldemort. And, to do that, Tom needed forces beyond his own. The Lady was a useful symbol. Tom wanted people to see her not as a murder, but as a vigilant, a mysterious power righting the injustice of Voldemort's world_. A power fighting for them._

_Although the publicity does come with a price, _Harry thought,_ its make his job much more dangerous_. Bellatrix Lestrange, the Secretary of Peace, was obsessed with the Lady. She devoted unholy amount of resources to try to catch them. Harry was very much looking forward to the day the blind eye of justice turns on her. _She would look good in red velvet_, Harry thought to himself, giggling silently.

Out of the ten Death Eaters they've eliminated, four were on Harry's list—Yaxley, Wright, Kettleworth, Wiggins— Harry repeated their name in his mind and added another one, after tonight, _Pettigrew._

He came to a stop in front of small shop. The shop was gray concrete like everything else. Harry looked up and found the usual red and gold sign absent. He peered through the dusty windows, but couldn't see anything due to the lack of lighting. Harry frowned and pulled out his wand.

"Lumos."

The end of Harry's wand lit up as he stepped into the store's dark and crammed interior.

Harry heard a rustling noise come from behind him. He dodged a swing fist from his right. As his attacker stumbled forward, Harry elbowed the other in the neck, slamming the boy to the ground with a satisfying crunch. Then, leaping over the fallen body with a backward flip, Harry shot a stunning curse toward the reminding man, who hid crouching next to counter. Dust fell from the ceiling as their movements rattled the small shop; next the walls, mountains of boxes shook dangerously as they threatened to tip over.

"Relax, boys, I come in peace," said Harry lazily. He lowered his wand to aluminate the two bodies lying on the floor. Two identical faces squinted at him, playful smiles stretched wide beneath tufts of bright red hair.

"Oh, hello, Harry," grinned Fred Weasley as he wiggled his body. His arm remained bounded by his side. "I would like to shake your hands, but I'm afraid I'm a bit tied up at moment—"

"Yeah, sorry, mate," said George Weasley. He picked himself up and unfroze his twin. "We weren't expecting you so soon. For us small business owners, these days, you just can't be too careful."

"More Ministry raids?" Harry nodded in understanding and withdrew his wand. "Not very smart to attempt to attack them though… especially with your dueling skills—"

"Nay, just snatchers," George replied brightly and clapped his hands. Lights came on and lit the interior of the shop. "We had a _run-in_ with this nasty gang, few days ago. And let's just say it wasn't pretty… Hey, watch what you say about our duel skills, or we'll be forced to show it to you."

"I believe you just did. Can't say I'm impressed, though—"

Harry smirked and surveyed the shop.

It was as chaotic as ever. Clusters of strange things spilled from every shelf. Stationaries in one— such as Flaming Ink or Spelling-Checking Quills, "_spell right or they bite_"; toys in another— Trick Wands and Punching Telescopes, "_an eye for a black-eye_"; and on the largest shelf, imported illegal potion ingredients – Persian Snake Heart or Troll Armpit Hair, "_ewwww, but they work_". In one corner of the room, a ghastly, life-sized stuffed bear held up a wooden sign that said "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes: we got things for you, as long as you've got gold."

Harry knew the twins wanted to open a joke shop, but they couldn't afford prime real-estate. And since no student will wander to this quarter of the town, they adapted. The Weasley twins were always clever, Slytherin-like in their Gryffindor-ness. And they stumbled into smuggling. They were masterful at it, too. Everyone at Hogsend Alley knew that when the Ministry's rationing rolls around, the red-haired boys were the people to talk to.

"So what can we do for our favourite gentleman, on this fine day," beamed Fred. He went behind the counter and leaned toward Harry. Harry was startled to see the man pop on a neon pink afro, which clashed horribly with the Weasley signature look— pale skin and freckles.

"Er… I am –"

"I bet you want to try our new products," said George as he put his arm around Harry. "U-no-poo: the constipation sensation that's gripping the nation. 'k… we're still work on that name. I don't think the Ministry will like it very much."

"Or would you like some mushrooms instead?" asked Fred, as he reached into his afro and pulled out a hand-full of mushrooms. "Muggle youth seem to like them—"

"Don't know why though—" George took one and popped it into his mouth. "Taste like brussel sprouts."

He chewed carefully, then offered one to Harry. The small umbrella-like plant glowed brightly pink. Harry shook his head quickly.

"No? Tough cookie," George shot a sly look at Fred. "Hit him with the secret weapon."

"Aye, aye. Captain," Fred saluted his twin. "You'll love this—our best seller— we even get some Ministry folks asking for it. Behold —" He slammed a stash of glossy magazines on the counter. "— the Muggle's best invention. Kernel? Corno?"

Harry picked up the magazines curiously. They all had Muggle woman on their covers, attractive girls in various stages of undress. The title, _Penthouse_ or _Playboy_, ran above their seductive smiles.

His eyes twitched.

George ruffled Harry's hair affectionately. "Although these pictures don't move, they make up for it in creativity."

"Plus they're in colour!… At least we learned one thing— Muggles are familiar with the engorgement Charm," Fred winked suggestively. He held his hands in front of his chest, jiggling up and down, as if he was holding two balloons.

"Very…hm… tempting," Harry replied dryly. "But I'll pass. I'm here for my package, do you have it?"

Fred shrugged as if saying your loss and turned back to Harry.

"Yes, they came in the morning... Had a little trouble with custom. The Ministry is cracking down on Muggle _imports_ lately. I wonder why?… They never cared before." Fred tapped his fingers thoughtfully. "But, no worries, we got though. Only the best for our favourite Slytherin customer."

"Our _only_ Slytherin customer," remained George. He tapped the counter with his wand three times and a black box materialized from thin air. George opened the box and dumped three books on the counter, two thick hard-covers and one thin paperback. "There you go, little snake prince, your royal offerings."

"We are still waiting on your list—" whispered Fred, pushing the books toward Harry. "Apparently Muggles and wizards do have one thing in common: bureaucracy is slow arse crap everywhere."

"When will it be ready?" Harry asked.

"I was told sometimes in December. Perhaps you can drop-by during the holidays?"

"I can't. I have to accompany Lucius and Draco on a trip abroad, for an international good-will conference or something." Harry signed in disappointment. He really wanted those documents as soon as possible. If anyone, especially Tom, found out what he was up to— _well, Harry rather not think about it._

With a flick of his wand, Harry canceled the glamour on the books and flipped through them. The thick book with blue covers was titled "_Lock Mechanisms and Engineering_" and a thinner yellow one was called "_Calculus for Dummies_". Harry poked the diagrams and none of them moved. _Such inconvenience,_ Harry thought, _I'll have to read the accompanying text to understand. How can Muggles learn like this?_

He picked up the third book and frowned. He didn't order this. The beautiful tome had a red, glossy cover, with the drawing of a mermaid (a mermaid that looked human, very different from the ones that lived in the Black Lake) below large, gold letters that read "_Hans Christian Andersen_ _Collection_".

"We were wondering if you could bring this to Ron? He wants to gift it to Hermione," said Fred.

"Yep, but the prat got himself stuck in detention, and her birthday is next week. So—" said George.

Harry opened the book. On the very first page, Fred or George wrote something.

_Dearest brat:_

_Good luck with wooing the girl. Try harder. You better not graduate a virgin._

_Xoxo,_

_Fred and George _

Harry's eye twitched again. "You guys are horrible," he murmured.

"So you'll do it? Thanks, mate." George chirped and patted Harry on the back. "We were going to mail it, but we don't know if the Ministry still monitor student mail… And, at the moment, our family can't afford any more legal trouble."

Harry nodded. He shrunk the books down and placed them in his pocket.

"By the way, how are your parents holding up?" Harry asked awkwardly, "I heard about your father, that he lost —" He trailed off.

"—that he lost his job at the Department of Unity?" George answered. His chirpiness disappeared. "Whatever, it wasn't as if the Muggle Containment Division pays well in the first place. The only problem is–"

"—is the legal fee! Those are the real trouble," continued Fred. "Those blood-suckers are asking for the moon! If we can't make bailout payment, then—" he dropped to a whisper, "—I hoped not, but… Azkaban…"

Harry never saw the Weasley twin look so solemn._ Despite their trouble-making ways, Harry thought they're good kids and the world is often unkind to good people._ Harry pulled out a bag of coins from his pocket. The galleons clucked pleasantly when Harry dumped them all on the counter.

Fred and George stared gobsmacked at the gold pile for a moment.

"Thanks for your help," Harry nodded and walked toward the door. "Owl me when my list arrives. Oh, please, keep the change."

Fred and George turned toward one another. "We can't accept this, Harry—" they said at once. But Harry interrupted.

"Consider it an advanced payment. I think we'll be seeing each other a lot in the future," Harry smiled, sincerely and gently. "Take it. I insist. The last thing I need is more gold— friends, however, I could use two more."

Identical grins broke out on their faces.

"Wait, Harry," shouted Fred as he chucked a copy of _Playboy_ toward him. "Keep this, compliment of the house."

* * *

_/PAST/_

In retrospect, Harry Potter thought he made three huge mistakes.

Frist was he trusted Tom Riddle's words.

Second was he trusted Tom Riddle's actions.

And third— well— third was Draco Malfoy's fault really, although Tom was not innocent himself.

See, everything went to shit sometimes after his tenth birthday.

Little Harry pretended to be asleep. He pressed his face into the pillow, biting it out of frustration. He hated his birthday. The nightmares were most vivid on this day. His dark curls were a wild mess, draping over his shoulder, because he refused to comb or cut them. After all, there was no point. He refused to attend anymore of Narcissa's boring parties, and the only way to make to her leave him alone was to make himself look like a cave man. _Or a poodle,_ according to Tom.

Maybe it was rude of Harry, but why should he to be forced to celebrate his parent's murder?

Harry bit down hard. Recently, he couldn't shake the feeling of _wrongness_ from his body. He was tired all the time; he slept twelve hours a day; he was extremely irritable and snapped at everyone's smallest attempt to socialize with him. Eventually, Harry took refuge in his room and hid there, all the time, with Tom as his only companion.

Tom had, half-heartedly, tried to reason with him. The older boy explained such symptoms were the result of his accelerated development as a natural occlumen. _Harry, you need to get your powers under control,_ Tom said, _let me teach you occlumency._ So Harry did.

Yet, the lessons only made things worse. Harry hated the sensation of Tom's magic pricking and prodding his mind. And sometimes, when Tom turns frustrated with their lack of progress, the spirit would attack his mind so fiercely that Harry blacked-out for hours at a time. Although every time Harry came to, Tom would be by his side, with a sorrowful smile and apologizing profusely, promising each time that it will not happen again. Those promises, off course, Tom never kept.

Still, Harry always forgave Tom, because he didn't know what else to do. The allure of Tom's promise was too much to resist. He couldn't go back to being just _Harry Potter Malfoy_, the poor little orphan who was luckily enough to be adopted by the famous Malfoys. NO. He had a greater destiny— as the future slayer of the Dark Lord—the avenging angel, _or whatever_, and Tom was the only who can lead him down that path.

However, somewhere, in the back of his mind, though the haze of drowsiness and denial, Harry couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was off… Something terrible and wrong.

Harry felt Tom hovering over him.

Tom Riddle had got stronger, gradually, over the last three months. Now the older boy could, sometimes, take on a corporal shape and leave the diary. Tom didn't behave like a ghost exactly; his colours were much more vivid than the ghostly pearly whites. But he wasn't alive, either. Tom drifted in and out of reality, a collection of hazy memories and strange magic, constantly present yet never really there.

It was unnerving, really.

Harry finally decided to give in. He opened his eyes and found Tom's red ones staring back thoughtfully.

"Do you always watch me sleep?" Harry grunted. "It's kind of creepy, you know."

"I don't sleep." Tom pointed out, as the spirit sat down next to him. "And I can't leave your room. And I can't touch anything—" To demonstrate, Tom ran his fingers through Harry's hair. Tom's slender fingers instantly dissolve into smoke, and lingered around him, clinging tight before moving away and the hand materialized again.

"—What else could I be doing? Tell me, Harry Potter."

"_I don't know_," Harry snapped sarcastically. He couldn't quite control himself. "Figure out a way to be a better teacher, I suppose. What do you normally do…for those years you were stuck in the diary? "

Tom's eyes narrowed momentarily. Although he didn't look angry, in fact, Tom's face often looked frozen, as if his handsome features were carved from stone, perfect and cold and emotionless. But when Harry looked closer, the coldness vanished and his thoughtful friend was back.

"I'm a good teacher, Harry. You're the one being stubborn." Tom glared at him. "You have to learn to clear your mind. It's simple— I promise— You'll just have trust me, let me inside your mind, so I can show you."

"I'm trying—" Harry yelled. "IT'S NOT WORKING! IT'S HARD. You're always giving me a headache. I don't want lessons anymore, Tom."

"Oh? You think this is hard?" Tom stood up suddenly, his robe bellowed with his movement and its edges blurred into mist. Tom loomed over him, his perfectly-styled hair falling in front of his eyes, hiding them behind its shadows and making them imperceptible to Harry.

"Do you want to know what is really hard? Harry— Try waking up one day, and suddenly you're no longer yourself. Instead, you are floating in darkness, amid a complete vacancy, alone and forever, with nothing but your own thoughts. And you are trapped there, for days or for years, it doesn't matter, because you started to think— too much— consciously and constantly, wondering if you're alive, if you're real, if you deserve something more… Something more than being the tool of another; something more than this emptiness; something more…_free_ and _alive_ and…_human_. Then, you decide you're human and this existence becomes unbearable. You curse and scream, but no one answers, only the darkness stretches on. Until—"

"So, _Harry_, my friend, I can tell you what is really hard, but I wouldn't… I will only say this—that I will never, ever go back to the diary again."

"I— I didn't mean—" Harry whispered. He reached out to touch Tom's hand, but passed though it instead. Harry stood up on his bed, so he can be eye-to-eye with Tom.

Harry declared carefully, determination shone bright in his emerald eyes. "Let me help you, Tom. Tell me the spell Voldemort used and we'll work together to set you free. I promise."

"Thank you for you the offer." Tom nodded. "I do have some ideas that I want to try— In fact, if you are not sleepy. We can try something, right now. I … just… need some of your blood."

"Blood?!" Harry hesitated. He seemed to recall reading about blood-magic, a very dark form of magic. The book had warned him that blood is a medium of a wizard's magic, a liquid life-force. A most precious thing, a wizard should always keep his blood safe, and away from his enemies, preferably inside his own body.

"Yes, just a little prick. " Tom said cheerfully, a bit too eager. "Smear your blood on my diary, Harry, and I'll show you what to do next."

"I—" Harry stuttered. He knew he just promised Tom, but something nagged at the back of his mind. "Can it wait, Tom? I'm…I'm tired. I…I can't right now."

"It won't take long," Tom reassured him. The spirit tried to grab Harry's shoulder and hissed in anger when his hands liquefied again. The anger contorted Tom's face, tearing though the diary's magic like a sword. Tom's form shimmered and dark mist seemed to be discharging from his robes.

Harry suddenly found it hard to breathe. He gulped mouthful of air, inevitable taking in the mist with each breath.

A warm feeling arose with every breath he took. It was the most wonderful feeling. Harry felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in his head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. He stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of Tom watching him.*

And then he heard Tom's voice, echoing in some distance chamber of his empty brain: _do as I say… give me your blood…_

"I—" Harry opened his month, before he could stop himself, a loud "NO!" slipped out of him. The haze broke in an instant, the candlelight in the room felt glaringly strong and Harry's consciousness returned.

Both Tom and Harry froze. Tom cocked his head sideways to look at Harry. The redness seemed to bleed from his eyes and into his body, making them heavier and more solid. Tom smiled— a cruel, soulless curl on his lips.

"_I see_," Tom whispered, stalking toward Harry, a predatory glint in his eyes. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but you left me no choice, Harry Potter."

Suddenly, at that moment, just as Harry was about to bolt from his position, the bedroom door slammed open. Instantly, Tom vanished. Beside the pillow, the thin black diary quivered. A small blonde head poked into the room.

"Sorry about that… Harry, are you asleep?" Draco Malfoy bounced in and jumped onto Harry's bed, kicking off his slippers in the process. "No? Good... Were you talking to someone?"

Harry stayed silent. His body felt stiff, still recovering from the pressure Tom exerted on him just a moment earlier. Harry shook his head. He threw the diary under his bed and allowed Draco to lie down next to him.

Harry let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. _I'll deal with Tom in the morning._

"Happy birthday! Harry!" Draco beamed and turned his clear blue orbs to Harry. The pale blonde hugged his brother tightly, as he snuggled closer. His cotton pajamas pressed against Harry's chest, soft and warm and soothing at the same time.

"You haven't been spending much with me, Harry," the young boy whined loudly. "Why is that? Don't you like me anymore?"

"I'm sorry, Draco," Harry finally replied. His rapid heartbeat slowly settled back to normal. "My tutors are demanding— you see — homework…" he finished lamely.

"Baa," exclaimed Draco. He pouted as if he wasn't satisfied by Harry's explanation. "I'll get mummy to fire them, then. Harry, we should to spend more time together now— while we can. Because, very soon, next year, you'll be eleven and off to Hogwarts… and then… and then I don't know when I'll see you again."

"Don't be silly. I'll be back for the holidays," Harry stoked his brother's hair affectionately.

It was a shame Draco was a squib, because the boy loved magic so very dearly, with a sincere, child-like devotion, still uncoloured by greed and ambition. Harry had felt the same way, once. That was before he found himself on the receiving end of another's wand, experiencing first-hand the terrible power it can bring.

"Promise me you wouldn't leave me alone—" whispered the boy, as he grabbed Harry's hand, before drifting to sleep.

Harry was startled by the quite plead. Draco's arm pressed firmly against his chest, warm and solid, so very unlike Tom. _It's nice to talk to real people,_ Harry decided.

"I promise," replied Harry solemnly.

Before soon, Harry fell asleep too. The two young boys lay peacefully against each other; their heads lolled together, dark and light hair tangled playfully.

For the first time in a long time, Harry slept well and, the next morning, he woke up on time, even before Draco.

However, his good mood didn't last long. When Harry looked under his bed for Tom Riddle's diary, to his absolute shock, he discovered that it was gone.

* * *

Author's rambling:

* Lifted verbatim(ish) from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Sorry, I'm busy again. I'll probably need two weeks off.

Special thanks to my reviewers—** BloodyRose90, bir, tee, 252020, brightsun89, Aguna, Cupcak3, Picas Lei-Fur, semexx, Celestialuna, J.F.C and C Elise**—your kinds words make me :)


	8. Revenge

**Chapter 7**

**I COMPLETELY FORGOT THIS STORY AFTER GETTING A NEW COMPUTER LAST YEAR. Now I have a bit of free time, I'm thinking of continuing it despite losing all my old notes.**

**Sorry about the update schedule.**

* * *

Harry perched on top of an old oak tree, waiting patiently for his prey to return home. He was getting worried: it was two in the morning and Peter Pettigrew has yet to show.

The traitor lived in a simple little wooden cabin on the outskirt of Little Undermole, not too far from Hogsmeade Village. Harry can't say the decrepit, tiny cabin was what he expected, not since every other Death Eater tend to bury themselves in gaudy ostentation and unnecessary luxury.

_All Death Eaters are equal, but some Death Eaters are more equal than others, _Harry duly noted.

Harry's legs felt numb. He had been hiding in this exact spot since nine o'clock.

_Something was … off._

Tom's intel said Pettigrew would be back by ten and Tom's intel was never wrong. Plus, when Harry disabled the wards around Pettigrew's home, he found three complex inter-locking layers of magic, which was excessive for someone of Pettigrew's statue. Although Harry was sure he disabled them correctly, he couldn't shake the feeling that he missed something.

Harry adjusted his goggles. Its charmed lens allowed him to see in the dark. He fashioned it himself, out of sliver frames and rose-tinted glasses, after he read about night vision scopes the Muggles used in their wars. Although he would never admit it, Harry liked reading about Muggle inventions. Secretly, Harry fancied himself to be somewhat of an inventor. Tom would say he's just a boy playing with toys, but Harry knew Tom was secretly impressed.

That bastard was too proud to pay Harry a single compliment, _ever_.

Harry was vaguely aware of a familiar presence in the back of his mind, prodding at his Occlumency shield. It was Tom, calling him though their bond. The tattoo on his back turned warm, a slight warming, but Harry ignored it.

Tom wouldn't dare to contact him through some of his more ... _forceful_ ways, given the spirit had no clue to Harry's current condition. Harry suspected that Tom wants him to return to Hogwarts, immediately, but Harry wasn't ready to given up yet. _He had waited too long for this. _

Finally, a movement caught Harry's attention.

A stocky man stumbled off a muddy path toward the cabin. His Death Eater mask dangling off his back as he fumbled with his keys. After a string of slurred curses, the man was able to pry open the door and went to inside. Harry watched intently as the lights in Pettigrew's bedroom flickered, then turned off. The little wooden cabin returned to its dark and silent serenity.

Harry slid down the tree. His movement fluid and quiet like a cat. He tabbed the oak tree three times and activated the runes he previously set-up.

A slivery dome expelled from the oak canopy and encompassed the whole cabin. Harry's magic shimmered like a thin dome of glass, then it turned invisible. Its presence saturated the air, playfully tickling Harry's senses, as it heeded to his command: to block all noises and signal from entering or leaving the cabin.

Harry frowned. He wasn't satisfied with this piece of magic. But it'll have to suffice. After all, Harry had no time to set-up a full anti-apparition ward, one that would give him maximum control, not without risking the ministry detecting a huge, unfamiliar surge of magic in the area.

There was this one time Harry tried to invent a camouflaged ward, but end up abandoning it due to lack of equipment. If only Tom wasn't so against him taking the exams, then Harry can become a proper Ward Master and gain access to the esteemed research department of the Warden (or more specifically, the Guild of Warden Mastery and Curse Breaking, _but that's_ _a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?_).

Harry shrugged. Again, he checked his equipments.

The medallion lay hidden under his robe; its magic comforting against his chest, next to it, in the inner pocket, hid a set of sliver daggers, each sharpened and ready to feast on blood. Harry fastened his cloak; its hood shadowed his face, making it obscure to all observers. The large, black cloak fluttered in the chilling winds; with his face masked beneath its shadow, Harry thought he looked quite appropriate for tonight's adventure. _Like Death without the scythe__,_ he mused, _happy Halloween. _

Lastly, Harry pulled his father's invisibility cloak over him. Then, he was ready.

Harry entered Pettigrew's house, sliding in shadows like an experienced predator. His dragon leather boots were charmed to be light and noiseless. And warm, to boost.

It was obvious Pettigrew lived alone; the man's house was crammed and messy. Empty liquor bottles and unmarked boxes littered the hallway, but Harry manoeuvred between them with ease. He made his way to the east side of the cabin.

Harry watched the fat man snore.

Standing beside Pettigrew's bed, Harry detected a strong stench of alcohol and sweat mingling in the air. Pettigrew hadn't change much from his memories, a little plumper and a little balder, but with the same recognizable, rat-like features. Harry felt the rage inside his chest rearing its ugly head and hissed something, sweet and incomprehensive, almost like Tom whispering in the back of his mind.

The hiss sounded angry and urgent. A familiar ringing sensation clouded Harry's mind.

_Oh, wait, it is Tom_.

Once again, the spirit was trying to push pass his Occlumency shield. The other's force was tearing though the lighting-shaped scar on his forehead and Harry had to grab onto the bed frame to steady himself.

_Shit, not now,_ Harry thought.

While focusing on Pettigrew, Harry pushed back on Tom attack, though their soul bond, as hard as he can. In front of him, Pettigrew murmured something in sleep. The sound ignited Harry's temper; the overwhelming emotion flared and fuelled his magic, so strong and firm that Tom's voice faded away. Finally, all was quiet again.

Harry lowered his wand to Pettigrew's temple. The killing curse on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated.

_NO_..._NO_. That would be too _easy_.

Then, impulsively, Harry pulled down his cloak and removed his goggles. He tabbed the bed frame with his wand. Wooden vines sprouted from the wand's tip. It crept along the bed like an awkward snake and wrapped itself around the sleeping man.

"Hello, Peter," Harry leaned forward as Pettigrew jerked awake; his eyes droopy and unfocused.

Harry smiled mischievously, his voice warm and honeyed.

"Long time no see, old friend. Did you miss me?"

"James?..." Pettigrew cried. "What?!… How?!…"

"Oh, just dropping by. You see, Peter, my dear friend, my best buddy, Lily and I miss you very much. We decided that…ah...the afterlife is simply too boring without you." Harry laughed in Pettigrew's face, as fear replaced drowsiness in those small, watery eyes. "But greetings first."

Harry jibbed his wand in Pettigrew's neck.

"_Crucio_."

Pettigrew screamed. His body writhed and shuddered violently, rocking back and forth against constrains of the wooden vines. The more Pettigrew struggled the more the vines tightened, until they cut into his soft flesh, almost strangling the man. The curse vibrated through Pettigrew, and Harry felt his own magic turn dark and sadistic, as it feasted on agony and turned even hungrier.

Harry tilted his head in fascination as Pettigrew screamed and squealed like a pig under slaughter. The mattress groaned under his weight, pitifully crying along with their master.

While Harry never found the torture curse to be one of his favourite spells (because the screams really bothers him), he could appreciate its application at the appropriate time. This... this man- this stinking, sleazy, loathsome coward- deserved to suffer everything Harry's parents have suffered- and suffer it a thousand times more.

But, first, Harry wanted some answers, so he stopped the spell. The screaming stopped; Pettigrew rocked back and forth against his constraints, sobbing like a giant baby. Tear and snort strained his face as the traitor mumbled incoherently to himself.

"Forgive me- James, James, what could I have done? The Dark Lord… you have no idea… he has weapons you can't imagine…. I was scared, James, I was never brave like you and Remus and Sirius. I never meant it to happen…. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me — He — he was taking over everywhere! Wh — what was there to be gained by refusing him?" *

"WHAT COULD HAVE YOU DONE?!" Harry roared with anger, "you should have died! you should have died rather than betray your friends, as they would have done for you! " *

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. He tilted Pettigrew head upward, forcing the other to meet his eye and asked,

"Explain something to me, Peter. Why did Voldemort come after me that night?"

Pettigrew shrunk under Harry's glare.

"TALK!" Harry demanded, his eyes bored into Pettigrew. He lowered his wand into Pettigrew's chest. "Unless you fancy another go—"

"NO… No more, please...Please...I'll tell you everything!" Pettigrew squealed, "The Death Eaters wanted Sirius, because...because Bellatrix believe he stole something from her. I don't know what- I only overheard something about Regulus and Gringotts- I know no more! I swear! They don't trust me, you see... "

"I'm sorry, James, I didn't know they would... I was just so scared, because once Sirius escaped to France, I thought you'all left with him. You and Lily and Harry... I never meant for it to happen... None of it... it's not my fault."

Harry stared down at the pathetic lump of a man crying in front of him. Pettigrew's mind was weakened by fear and clouded with pain, so Harry performed legilimency on him with easy. Harry sifted around shards of memories and feelings, then determined that Pettigrew was telling the truth. The man really knew very little about the inner workings of the Dark Lord's government.

The pure-bloods contemned him; the Death Eaters distrusted him; and the Dark Lord thought so little of Pettigrew that he wasn't even worthy as a pawn in the New Government. In the end, the rat had betrayed his friends- his only friends- for a life-time of laborious toil at the bottom of pure-blood society- a lonely existence, drowning himself in liquor and busy running from his past, hunted by fear and guilt.

Harry grimaced. Pettigrew's mind was not a pleasant place.

In truth, Harry didn't like to use legilimency, because, he feels, there was too much _interpretation_ needed. The mind was not an open book, black words on white pages, clear and easy to understand. No, the mind was a maze: every memory tainted by feelings; every idea steeped with conformity; every thoughts blurred by grander of self-delusion and deep dark desires. Trying to navigate though all that junk required...certain skills and determination... and concentration on the part of the Legilimen.

Even most experienced Legilimens were cautious when entering another's mind. The mind-link was a two-way express, an unstable and unnatural bond between two people. Yes, it was a powerful tool, but a dangerous one as well. A momentary lapse in concentration, a weakness in one's Occlumency shield, could spell disaster— magical backlash may occur, causing immutable brain damage for both parties. After all, there was good reasons why Legilimency is considered one of the most treacherous Dark Arts.

Harry still remember vividly the one time he tried to read Tom's mind. The agony he felt from Tom's Occlumency shield— red hot like his anger— burning on the inside of Harry's skull.

_Physic pain I can handle,_ Harry thought, _but the mind... the mind sure is a nasty place_.

Finally, Harry's business was done.

"Goodbye," he said to Pettigrew.

Harry award the traitor one last disgusted look and lowered his wand again.

"NO! PLEASE! NO...James, Lily wouldn't have wanted me killed! Your wife... she would have spared me! She would shown me mercy!" *

Harry paused. He could almost hear Tom's word in his head. _Mercy to the enemy is cruelty to one's self._

Harry smiled a little, despite himself. Maybe Tom was right, about how killing will give Harry his peace of mind... Or maybe not, but it was the only thing Harry knew how to accomplish.

"NO! PLEASE!" Pettigrew yelled desperately; the traitor must have recognized the look in Harry's eyes. "I didn't - I didn't betray you, James. I never told them about Harry, about how you faked Harry's birthday! I swear on my magic, I didn't tell them... I didn't..."

Harry frowned, "What are-"

But his question was cut off mid sentence, because, suddenly, unexpectedly, the door bell rang.

Both assassin and soon-to-be-victim froze, as the ringing sound cut into the night, clear and piercing like chilling winds of autumn.

* * *

_/PAST/_

Little Harry was in deep trouble. Very much so.

You see, he lost his best friend. Yep, he lost _Tom Riddle—_ not lost as in Tom died, but lost as in literately he can't find Tom.

It was a week since his tenth birthday. And it was a week since he last seen Tom Riddle and his diary. At first Harry just thought Tom was mad at him and avoiding him on purpose. But, very soon, Harry realized Tom was actually gone and he started panicking.

Harry searched high and low for Tom Riddle's diary. He torn though his bedroom, Lucius' library, the basement lavatory (so _literately_ everywhere) looking for the little black book. And found nothing.

Harry banged his head against the headboard, berating himself for fighting with Tom.

The last week has been unbearable. Lucius and Narcissa had left for vacation and Draco had been avoiding him for some reason, which leaves Harry alone in the large empty Manor, butting heads with their strict governess, Madam Rachman, on whether Harry should continue his French lessons.

Harry hadn't realize how much he depends on Tom's guidance until now. The more time Harry spent— alone—with his own thoughts, the more his fear and uncertainty came rolling back. Memories flooded Harry, almost drowning him with emotions, in feelings that Harry thought he had forgotten. Harry felt like he was six again, all alone in the world, living a lie among enemies who destroyed his life... living a past that he thought he left behind.

Although his headaches were gone, Harry was having reoccurring nightmares so he couldn't sleep. Staring at ceiling in the dark, in the middle of the night, Harry couldn't help but wish for the sounds of Tom's voice, reassuringly confident, warm and quiet, telling Harry a story about the Wizarding guild that defeated a werewolf colony and whispering to Harry that he is safe, that he has a purpose in life, and that he has someone who can help.

A loud crackling noise appeared in mid-air. Harry rolled off his bed, just in time to avoid a soft body from landing on top of him.

"Dobby?" Harry exclaimed.

The grey-skinned house elf scurried up. In the dim moonlight, Harry could barely recognize the Malfoy house-elf as it turned those large, saucer-like eyes toward him. Dobby looked eccentric (well, more so than usually) as it was covered with goo and mud from head-to-toe, and its eyes were unfocused and distant, staring right through Harry.

"How terrible... How terrible...Find help... must find help." Dobby murmured to himself. The creature torn at his potato sac nervously, dropping mud onto Harry's bed .

"Dobby?" Harry tried again, tabbing Dobby's shoulder gently.

"Master Harry!" Dobby yelped, as if noticing Harry for the first time.

"Oh, Master Harry... Master Harry... Master Harry." It said, frantic in its breathing. "You must help! Dobby was ordered ... get Master Harry... Help ... Get Master Harry... Help Madam Rachman. "

"Calm down, Dobby. " Harry tried to hold onto the nervous creature, and wiped some mud from Dobby's face. He grasped in horror.

"Dobby?! Is... is this blood?"

Harry's touch seemed to snap Dobby out of his stupor. It leaped into action.

Dobby nodded. "Blood. Yes...Not Dobby's... Must follow orders, sorry, Master Harry."

Then Dobby grabbed Harry's arm, instantly, with a harsh tag, Harry felt the sensation of apparition as they both disappeared from the Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Author's rambling:

* Adapted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

Special thanks to my reviewers—**EMERALD69, dead feather, jeanne anne, EdenAthene, Guest, Midnightblue20, SkylerxXxSetsuna, korolo, quenofthieves, BloodyRose90, patricia. pc, twilightobsession20, HandK, J.F.C , OlivineWK, Kitty20. **

I'm so rusty... My writing is progressing at the speed of 1/infinity (unit: words/day). I haven't read a novel in half a year (read some quality non-fics though) and I got to say...that means I have no inspiration. Anyone wanna recommend some new releases for me?


	9. Red Scarf

**Chapter 8**

BETA: the wonderful **Krysania**

* * *

"Good evening, Mr. Pettigrew."

The two Aurors greeted Pettigrew pleasantly as they stepped into the crammed living room. One of them was a head taller than the other; both dressed in the simple, crisp, standardized Ministry uniform. Pristine, intimidating, they towered over Pettigrew as the nervous man ushered them toward the couch.

Pettigrew pulled at his hair nervously. His mousy hair tossed in a wild mess, as if protesting being dragged out of bed at this ungodly hour. The fat man wrapped a thick blanket tightly around himself, leaving only his weary face visible to the visitors.

"Good evening?!" exclaimed Pettigrew, after the Aurors politely refused his offer for a seat. "It's two o' fucking clock in the morning! What in Marlin's name do you want?"

"Fun night, Mr. Pettigrew?" the older Auror raised an eye-brow, as he leaned in to inspect Pettigrew's blood-shot eyes and sweat-drenched brown hair.

"Long night—" Pettigrew grumbled unhappily. "Thus, I would very much like to go back to bed. Still have work in the morning, ye'see."

"Off course, off course." the older Auror nodded sympathetically. "We won't be long. It's just that... we received a report from the Ministry, regarding a disturbance at your residence. There is a break in your ward, Mr. Pettigrew. Have you noticed anything unusual lately?"

Pettigrew frowned.

"No, nothing at all. I don't understand... Are you saying someone tried to break into my house?"

The older Auror gestured for the younger Auror to hand a folder to him.

"Not exactly, Mr. Pettigrew." the tall man smiled politely, and continued in his forceful but tedious monotone.

"I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but, as ordered by the Department of Love, the ward around your house has been upgraded... to a newer, more secure version. Your ward is now linked to the Ministry directly. It will inform us of any — shall we say — unusual activity within your house, including unauthorized entry, exit, or any attempt to alter the ward. As per order of the Magica Security Act, we must ask you to remain within the confine of your house, Mr. Pettigrew. You mustn't attempt to change the ward without permission from the Department of Love. That will constitute as an Imperial crime, I am afraid."

Pettigrew blinked confusedly at them. He opened his mouth, then shut it without saying anything.

"You're under house arrest!" blurted out the younger Auror. The younger man glanced at his watch impatiently, before turning back to Pettigrew.

"So, for Salazar's sake, don't ya try to break down the Ministry's ward no more. Alright? It adds a lot of paperwork of us. And I REALLY don't like that**—** "

The older Auror held up a hand to interrupt his impulsive partner. He gave the young man a berating look, a stern warning from an old solider. The young man shuffled nervous and back off immediately. The older Auror turned back to address Pettigrew, his polite artifice sliding back in place, flawless and humourless like the Death Eater's mask.

"Off course, this is all set for your protection. You understand— "

The older Auror smiled, flashing a row of white teeth at Pettigrew.

"The Ministry is trying to purge out traitors and some precautions must be taken in the mean time. I'm sure your good name will be cleared...very soon, Mr. Pettigrew. After all, you are one of the original Death Eaters, for which you have my admiration... In the mean time — I'm afraid— you must follow the laws of the Ministry, just like the rest of us. Thus, you mustn't attempt to leave the confirm of your house without informing the Ministry again, Mr. Pettigrew, or there will be consequences to pay— "

The Auror leaned toward Pettigrew, forcing the fat man to fall back onto the couch. Despite the honeyed tone of his voice, his blue eyes were as cold as steel.

"As of October 31st, we, the Aurors of the Department of Love, received words of unauthorized attempt of ward-breaking at Mr. Pettigrew residence, an act which remains a imperial offense under the Magica Security Act. Considering this is your first offence, I'm going to let you off with a warning. However, as you know, the Ministry do not tend to give second chances."

The stoutly Auror paused to let his threat linger, before breaking into a cold laughter.

"So, Mr. Pettigrew, I trust I'm being perfectly clear?"

Leaning forward, the Auror offered the brown folder to Pettigrew. On its cover, the large Ministry of Magic seal glowed neon green, the snake sigil slithered away from the skull's mouth, coiling back and readying to strike.

* * *

Harry crouched behind an old bookcase, with the invisibility cloak wrapped around him, his wand in his hand, pointing steadily at the Aurors.

He debated briefly to himself, on whether he could subdue both Aurors and oblivate them. He was remarkably gifted with mind charms, being a natural Occlumens and all. Still, his training had taught him all about caution. Experience had taught him to never to bet against the odds. No...Patience and ingenuity are what's called for here.

Harry had placed Pettigrew under the Imperius curse, then instructed the traitor to get rid of the visitors as soon as possible. It was an easy spell. The traitor's mind was too weak to resist. So far, everything seemed to proceed according to his plan.

He listened to the Auror's conversation intently. He tensed up when they mentioned Pettigrew's house arrest. That explained why the Aurors are here**—** they realized someone had tampered with the ward in Pettigrew's house. Harry frowned... but why is this important detail missing from Tom's report? Tom wouldn't betray him, would he?

Harry shocked his head to force himself from that horrifying thought. He refocused his attention on the problem at hand.

The Aurors were standing by the door, Pettigrew trailing by their side. The fat man was fidgeting nervously. Harry could feel Pettigrew fighting desperately against his control, struggling for one last chance to save himself.

"Good night," said the older Auror as he extended his hand to Pettigrew.

Pettigrew took the hand shakily. They shook, then Pettigrew held onto the man's hand.

"Mr. Pettigrew?" The Auror raised his eyebrow. Still Pettigrew wouldn't let go of his hand.

Harry swallowed.

The cold silence in the room was not good for his nerves. He felt his heart racing, hard and steady, so loud that he feared its beating would give him away. As quietly as he could, Harry slide close to the men and crouched behind the sofa. He pointed his wand over his head and strengthened his hold on Pettigrew.

Finally, Pettigrew let go. The traitor's mind settled down and Harry was back in control once again. Harry breathed a sign of relief as he wiped sweat away from his brow.

After which, all hell broke loose.

* * *

"Yeah, yeah. Good night, Mr. Pettigrew. I sincerely hope we would not have to see you again," the younger Auror snapped impatiently.

The older Auror shook his head at his partner's rude conducts. The boy was not ready to be an Auror, he thought, the boy was barely waned enough to be called a man. The lad, who was only four-years removed from Hogwarts, definitely did not have enough combat training or social adequacy for this job. No brain, no brawns, only youthful arrogance and over-enthusiasm for violence. The boy was, in short, a terrible partner.

The department used to be about all honour and duty, not about whose father was the head of what. The older man scoffed. He should know all about honour. After all, he was old soldier who earned an Order of Merlin for his bravery at the battle of Edinburgh. He had fought on the RIGHT side**—** to keep the Wizarding kind's blood pure, to make magic strong, to protect his people from the ever-growing Muggle threats.

Yet, nearly eighteen-years after the war ended, the old solider can barely recognize the New World he had helped to build. It wasn't as the Dark King had promised**—** a true free magical society**.** No... their world, the Ministry's world, became a dictatorship of brutal power, over-ran with maggots and power-hungry climbers.

_Corrupt to the core. Even an old dog can see that._

The Auror pushed the traitorous thoughts out of his mind and let out a long-suffering sigh.

_Perhaps it's time to put in that transfer for the desk job, after all._

The senior Auror gestured for his partner to apologize to Pettigrew.

The younger Auror held out his hand grudgingly. In his usual clumsiness, the young man stumbling forward and stepped on Pettigrew's blanket, pulling it from Pettigrew's body and onto the floor.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS**—** " exclaimed the young man confusedly, once the sheets fell away to reveal the terrible bruises on Pettigrew's arms.

Two things happened simultaneously.

Pettigrew squealed loudly, and instantly began shrinking. His pyjamas fell onto the floor. A dirty, brown rat emerged from the pile and scurried away before anyone can react.

A stunning curse flew from out of the darkness toward them. The old man deflected it with a flick of his wand; the streak of redness flew to his left and shattered a window to a million pieces. Soon the spells began to fly, dancing in their swirl of deadly colours.

Everything exploded around them. Torrents of broken shreds and glass rained on him; the chairs and tables lay busted in the middle of floor; the over-head lamp swung back and forth, casting flicking lights upon the chaos, before it, too, exploded into pieces.

They were duelling in complete darkness. The assailant had taken out the light source as soon as the battle has started. His enemy seemed to be everywhere, sending vicious spells from every corners of the crammed room, hidden by the veil of darkness.

The old man narrowed his eyes.

_NO, that is not right_... The pattern of attacks seemed too regular to be from a group. No, this was the work of an individual assailant. A particular powerful assailant, who is capable of rapid firing spells, but who is too inexperienced**—** or too arrogant**— **to disguise his attacks properly.

_With a little patience_, the old man grinned to himself, _I can bait this bastard out_.

Then, off course, his idiotic partner had to go and ruin everything.

"AVADA KEDAVRA! AVADA KEDAVRA! AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The young man shouted blindly into the dark, sending the killing curse everywhere. The green lights lit up his face; fear evident in his voice.

"IDIOT!" shouted the old solider. "Get down! Don't give away your position!"

But it was too late. He watched in horror as a green light bounced toward the boy, then heard the body hit the floor. Instantly, the older Auror leaped from his hiding place and rushed toward the body. He made sure his shielding charm was in place, before reaching for a pulse.

Surely the lad was too young for death. He was barely old enough to be a man. And the war had ended for over eighteen-years... He...he can't lose another comrade... He can't**—**

He did not see the knife coming…

* * *

Harry barely had to time to duck when the old men send the columns of flame toward him. The bright orange heat consumed the couch, lighting it up like a bonfire. Sweat drenched Harry's robe. A nasty burn crawled up his leg, accompanied by white hot agony, intense and sharp like nothing he had ever felt before.

Harry cursed under his breath. His right leg was useless now. He had to lean on the wall to remain standing. Breathlessly, Harry strengthened the ward around Pettigrew's house. He couldn't let the traitor escape.

_NO, no, not after man had seen his face..._

Harry suppressed a moan. The pain shot up his body in waves. He grasped. He needed water... no, he needed rest... Harry's head felt dizzy; his thoughts consumed by pain and heat. He needed to end this now. _Back-ups from the Ministry will be here any minute._

_And Tom will be so angry with him._

More killing curses flew past him. It became increasingly difficult to find a hiding place amongst the rubble. Everything was in pieces. Magic saturated the air, almost playfully ticking Harry's senses, teasing him, daring him to use them, to do what is necessary.

Harry peered at the Aurors. He could see well from his night-vision goggles, but he lost track of the old man. _Damn it._ He doesn't have time for this.

_They are coming for you,_ said a voice in the back of his mind. _They are coming to slaughter you like they did her._

_He needs to end this now._

Harry raised his wand. The killing curse was easy to cast, after all he had practiced it a hundred times with Tom. He felt his panic leaving with the spell. It was strange in a way, casting the killing curse was almost cathartic. It provided him with a moment of clarity, fleeting and frail, a moment of life born from dark and murderous intents.

As his spell made contact and the Auror's body fell to ground, Harry felt nothing. He watched as the other Auror emerged from his hiding place, kneeling beside his dead comrade.

_Careless_, Harry thought, _if he thinks that he is safe behind that shielding charm._

Harry remembered the day that Tom taught him about shielding charms. "Concealment is the dueller only friend in battle... and arrogance is always his down-fall," he had said. Then, Tom gave him a lecture on how shielding charms can be penetrated by goblin-made sliver and gave Harry a set of sliver daggers for his birthday.

He threw the dagger. It flew fast, straight like an arrow.

The ruthless knife slide into the man's skull easily. Its quivering sliver handle protruded out between widen eyes. Dark pupils stared forward blankly, almost as if they were directed at Harry, looking through him, accusing him of a silent crime. Blood trickled down the man's face, in thin streams like tears. Then, the body toppled over stiffly, falling on top of the other dead Auror with a light thud.

The silence in the room was deafening. Harry could hear his own heart beat, thumping, racing, reminding him of the time.

Harry approached the dead body with caution. He removed his dagger and wiped it clean. The dead man's eye was still open, staring forth at the ceiling, empty and distant.

Harry almost choked when he recognized one of the Aurors. It was Marcus Flint, his old Quidditch captain. Yes, it was the same Marcus, with his bushy eyebrows and buck teeth. The boy looked almost normal, like he is sleeping.

Harry's hands began to tremble. It was undoubtedly Marcus**—**_the same boy who knew Harry, who had made fun of his glasses, who had made him the Quidditch captain and made him promise to win the cup for Slytherin. To win the cup, always_…

Suddenly, unexpectedly, all his feelings exploded**—**guilt, anger, fear, fatigue, all tied together in knots. Harry felt sick to his stomach. His legs gave out and he keeled over, almost falling on top of the bodies.

But he didn't have time for feelings. He never did.

Harry laughed, loudly, hysterically to himself. A crazy, deranged laughter like the ones he hears in his dreams. Then, he pushed all those feelings aside.

_He didn't have time for feelings._

"Here, mousy, mousy. _Where are you_?" he sang to the dark.

Harry stood up and raised his wand.

"Peter, Peter. You should know by now that you cannot escape from me. I am your past. I am your sin. I am the debt you had yet to repay. Earlier, I put up a ward around your house, dearest old friend. It'll prevent you from leaving."

Harry smiled. He felt so empty inside.

"Do you know why I placed a medallion around your neck? Hm... Do you know what it is, old friend? It is a rat trap. And it is especially made for you."

He activated the stunning curse he had stored in the Ward Key. In one corner of the room, a white light bloomed briefly and the fat man rematerialized on the floor.

The fat man lay on his back, stiff as a log. The only thing indicating his living condition was his eyes. Those small, watery eyes followed Harry every movement **—** terror overwhelming in them. He was completely naked, with only a golden medallion wrapped around his neck.

Harry snatched the medallion away. Terrified tears began flowing down the traitor's face.

"Aw, shhhhh, it'll all over soon," Harry stood over Pettigrew and held out a red scarf.

"Do you know this is?" he asked softly.

Judging the look on Pettigrew's face, he knew the fat man had recognized the scarf, as all Ministry stuff would, because to them, it is the symbol of death.

"This is justice," Harry continued.

"Justice stitched from blood and pain of all those the Ministry has wronged. And, as you know, they have wronged so many... _So many_... So many good people, like Lily and James Potter. The Potters were your friends; they trusted you; and you betrayed them."

Harry dropped the scarf on the fat man's petrified body. Red against pale flesh, it looked almost like real blood.

The night was dark and silent. The cool October air carried along a refreshing muddy scent. _The woods were beautiful in the moonlight,_ Harry thought, _perhaps he will have a chance to visit again, someday under better circumstances. Perhaps Tom will come with him._

He smiled again.

"For justice," he said to Peter. "Good-bye."

He drew up a circle of flames and set the whole cabin ablaze. Then, he apparated away, leaving behind only the red scarf and Pettigrew's silent screams.

* * *

Author's rambling:

OMG! That was a severely delayed update... I'm sorry... T_T... I have no excuses.

I can't believe this scene went on for so long... I mean it's just Harry murdering three people in cold-blood. No biggie, right?

A thousand thanks to my reviewers**— ****Lollipop, sheetamoon, allasvitkona, jeanelle02, Guest, Hoatay, Krysania, Anon, Viridianna, UNCG gurl, ulqui's-girl.**


	10. The Barn

**Chapter 9**

BETA: the wonderful **Krysania**

* * *

By the time Harry emerged from the Whomping Willow, it was already four in the morning. The dark forest was eerily silent. Without even rustlings of leaves, the vast woods looked and felt like the last place on Earth.

Harry tucked the daggers into the invisibility cloak and hid them in the charmed poach around his neck. With the Marauder's Map's help, Harry picked the safest route back to the Slytherin Common Room, carefully avoiding the patrols, as he made his way toward the dungeon.

If he hurried, he could still get in five hours of sleep before class. He'll need his rest. After all, Harry had a Quidditch match to prepare for. Currently he was in no condition to fly. His right leg hurt like hell. With his muddy boots and crumpled robe, Harry sure he looked like hell too.

He let out a sign of relief when he rounded a corner and saw the Slytherin Common Room door at the end of the damp corridor. _Home. Safe. Bed._

"Where do you think _you_ are going, Mr. Malfoy?" said a deep, disdainful drawl.

Harry stopped in his tracks.

_Fuck, if it isn't the last person he wanted to see under the circumstance._

"Actually, I much prefer Mr. Potter," replied Harry as he spun around. Harry tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace.

"— that is, only if you don't mind, headmaster."

There, in a corner, perfectly blending in with the shadows; stood Headmaster Snape. He was a tall, thin man with sallow skin, a hooked nose and greasy, shoulder-length black hair. At the moment he scowled, with a familiar threatening glint in his eyes, Snape's customary greeting for Harry. Below the wavering candlelight, Snape's pale, waxy skin looked deathly, almost vampire-like in their crankiness.

_Except, _Harry thought, _Vampires are supposed to be attractive._

Snape strode toward him. The headmaster looked terrifying, as usual. His lengthy, black cloak bellowed wildly in the windless corridor, flipping like wings of a giant bat. Harry wished that his cloak did it too.

"_Mr. Malfoy_," Snape spat with venom.

"You may fancy yourself above the rules, as evident by your utter inability to abide by them; but, once again, must I remind you that Hogwarts' curfew is applicable to _everyone_. As per declaration of the Ministry, within Educational Decree Number Thirty-Three. And by everyone, I mean absolutely _everyone_ — arrogant dunderheads or not."

Snape stopped right in front of him. He stood too close; Harry could smell burned potion ingredients emitting from the other man and it was making him nervous.

"My...My sincere apologies, Headmaster." Harry bowled to Snape, with one arm folded across his chest, the highest sign of respect amongst pure-bloods. "I must've... lost track of the time, sir. It will not happen again, I assure you."

"Your assurance means nothing to me," countered Snape coolly. "Your apologies even less. _Where have you been?_"

"I was at the pub," Harry replied quickly. "It is Halloween, sir, partying, drinking. I must been having too much fun."

"Oh?" Snape raised an eye-brow. "Which pub, then? Tell me, I must know of the party. Hogsmeade is _not_ that big."

"A muggle pub," Harry lied smoothly. "It's called The Renegade, near Abbeyhill. You see, Professor, Hogsmeade is for the unadventurous lower-years, and I am way past that."

"Off course, off course. One can't have a party without breaking _all_ the laws," replied Snape dryly.

"_Empty your pockets._"

Harry did as he was told. He took out the three muggle books, his wand, the Marauder's Map (deactivated, thank goodness), a bag of Honeydukes and handed them to Snape. At that exact moment, the lingering curse on his right leg flamed up, painfully, forcefully, burning like a red hot iron pressing against his thigh. Harry's legs wobbled under his weight. Stumbling forward, Harry narrowly missed bumping into Snape as he steadied himself against the wall.

"Is there something wrong, _Mr. Malfoy_?" inquired Snape as he flipped through one of the books.

_Didn't Snape just love to enunciate every syllable in that name, slowly and particularly, just because he knew it bothered Harry so…_

_That ugly git!_

"Drunkenness," Harry gritted through his teeth. "I'm sure you've suffered the same affliction sometimes during your youth, _sir_."

Snape didn't look amused. Suddenly, he slammed the book shut and his expression shifted. For a moment, the Headmaster almost looked worried. A flicking of emotion filtered across his face, so subtle that Harry thought he had imagined it. Then, the cold sneer was back in place; the Headmaster stepped closer, and forced Harry against the wall.

"_I know what you are up to, boy_." The Headmaster leaned in to whisper, so quietly that Harry barely heard him.

"That arrogance of yours is imbecilic, insufferable, and rooted in a dangerous ignorance. This world is not simple; it is not naive; and ignorance will get you killed, _boy._"

"What—"

"Don't think, not even for a moment, that your silly little lies can fool me. For instance, how did you get injured in a muggle pub, _Harry Potter_?"

Harry turned pale.

"I don't know—"

"Oh? You don't know? Then, I suppose you wouldn't object to a trip— right now— to infirmary and provide such evidence, would you? And how about in front of a grand jury of the Wizengamot? Hm...? Not so brave now, are we?" Snape's eyes darkened.

"_Come_. _We need to talk. NOW_…"

Snape grabbed Harry's collar and dragged him forward. Harry pushed back on instinct, too stunned and confused to say anything. His head and arms jerked forward, almost bashing into Snape. The sudden movement ripped his robe, threads and buttons popped from his collar, yet it wasn't enough to shake Snape loose. The Headmaster's bony fingers were surprisingly strong and Harry couldn't pry them free. They tussled for a moment, back against the cold stone wall, fists flying, before—

"Pardon my interruptions," a familiar voice interjected.

Draco Malfoy peeked from behind the Common Room door, staring at them with undisguised surprise. Even in the middle of night, Tom looked perfect, with his Hogwarts uniform pristinely pressed and his blond hair slicked back.

Harry has never been so happy to see him.

"DRACO! HELP!" he yelled without thinking. "Your godfather is going to rip my clothes off!"

The ensuring silence made Harry cringe. He didn't need to look at Snape's face to feel the other's fury.

_He was dead_…

…_Oh, so dead._

* * *

_/PAST/_

Little Harry landed, face first, in a pile of mud, Dobby's soft body by his side. Wobbling, Harry got back on his feet. Still reeling from the nauseating sensations of Appariting, he felt dazed and sleepy as he pulled at his wet pyjamas. Harry's vision blurred, it seemed he had lost his glasses in the fall.

"Yuck," said Harry as he spited out a mouthful of mud. "Where are we, Dobby?"

In response, the skinny house-elf made a pathetic wail sound and started sobbing loudly. Harry shot the creature an annoyed look. Judging by Dobby's reaction, you would think it was Harry who dragged him, in the middle of the night, unannounced and without permission, from a warm bed to god-knows-where.

Harry took a quick survey of the room. They seemed to be in some sort of abandoned barn. There were bundles of hay and empty boxes all around him; some rusty tools hang on the walls; next to him, the empty stalls smelled strongly of goats. Harry blinked. He couldn't be sure of anything without his glasses, except that he definitely had left the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

"Hey, Dobby! Snap out of it!" Harry ordered. "What in Merlin's name are we doing here?"

Dobby wailed even louder.

Harry sighed. Dobby was always eccentric (even for a House Elf), but Harry has a soft spot for him. He was always kind and patient to Dobby, much more than Lucius Malfoy could ever be, and he always thought Dobby liked him, trusted him, as his master and as a friend.

Harry walked toward Dobby and knelt by his side.

"Dobby?" Harry asked softly. "What's wrong? Is it Lucius? Is he mad at you? It's okay... Talk to me."

"Dobby... Dobby is sorry... Master Harry," sniffed Dobby, as he put his thin arms around Harry and buried his head against Harry's chest. "So sorry... so sorry. He made me... he made me... Master Draco...in danger... and... he made me... so... so sorry."

Feeling completely lost, Harry patted Dobby's pointy ears confusedly. He noticed a pool of dried dark liquid in front of him. His eyes followed the trail of dark liquids to the opposite wall, and Harry saw the most horrifying thing hanging above closed barn doors.

It was in the shape of a woman.

Her arms and legs nailed into the wall, spread apart and arranged her body into the shape of a cross. Dirty blonde hair obscured her face, and below that, a huge gaping hole replaced where her stomach should be. Some sickening globular things protruded from the dark hole, seemingly growing straight out of the depth of Hell. In his blurred version, Harry couldn't see exactly what was spilling from her body, but just the outline of it made him want to puke.

Harry took a step back in horror when he recognized that ugly, purple dress. He knew her! She was his governess, the stern and frowning Madam Rachman, who was forever cussing at Harry in German and who always smelt like lavender.

Harry felt sick.

"DOBBY!" Harry yelled, his voice suddenly an octant higher. "GET US OUT OF HERE— NOW!"

Before Dobby could react, a stunning curse flew out the darkness and hit him squarely in the chest. Dobby's small body flung through the air violently; then his back hit the barn wall and fell to the ground.

A familiar child-like voice drafted down from above them.

"Now, what's the rush, brother dear?" The voice intoned sweetly. "You don't like what I've done with the place? Aw, I'm hurt. After all, I made all these preparations especially for you—"

* * *

Author's rambling:

This is a short chapter, I know. But I really wanted to end it here :P

Give you one guess to whom is the mystery person. The winner gets a kiss from the Weasley twins.

Special thanks to my reviewers—** thebellowingpixie, AtikahFiction, anon, Cupcak3, Midnightblue20, sheetamoon, Colette Hyuga, Shadoween, , EMERALD69, Wolven Spirits.**

And a huge shout-out to my BETA, **Krysania** ! You also get a kiss from the Weasley twins.


	11. Firebolt Light

**Chapter 10**

_/PAST/_

Little Harry swallowed thickly. The damp summer air felt suffocatingly hot. Sweat dripped from his face into his collar, making him itchy and uncomfortable. Oh, how he hated the pungent smell lingering in the vast barn— the smell of rotten wood and livestock; the smell of mold and blood; the smell of... fear.

"Draco?!" Harry exclaimed as he looked up toward the voice.

A dimly outlined figure smiled down at him. The blonde boy was leaning casually on the railings of the barn's second floor. Draco was also in his pyjamas, in a pale blue satin nightgown that Narcissa brought from Paris. He almost looked comically out of place in the dark, empty barn, standing in front of a dead body and twirling a wand between his small fingers.

"Draco!" Harry repeated urgently. "You've got to help me. We've got to get out of here. NOW. There's a murderer out there... I don't know who he is, but he could be along any moment... Please, help me—"*

Draco didn't move. Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Dobby half off the floor, and tried to shake the House Elf awake.*

Harry's pulse nearly stopped when the familiar voice spoke again, in that delicate childish tone, so gentle yet so cruel.

"Come, Harry, my dear. You and I both know you are not _that_ stupid... Now put the nice House Elf down and we can continue our discussion, _properly _this time."

"_Tom_," Harry answered softly, and surely; then he dropped Dobby as Tom commanded.

Harry turned to look at the locked doors, a thick chain binding them, and signed deeply, before returning his attention back to the boy above. Although this being looked and sounded exactly like his brother, Harry knew instantly, with absolute certainty, once he heard that mocking tone and felt that intense aura, that this creature was the boy from the diary, the boy who was his confidant, who was his guiding light, who was his friend...

_His only friend..._

Harry's mind went completely blank. His eyes flickered between the unfortunate dead woman and the boy he thought he knew, and his stomach turned to knots. A million questions swirled in his mind, but he couldn't find the strength to ask them.

"Tom." Harry repeated instead, dumb-founded.

"Yes, my dear?"

Tom chuckled. He leaped down from the second floor and landed in front of Harry gracefully. His blue stripped pyjamas swayed with his movement, in a way that almost looked like he was flying. _Yes_, _like flying without a broom._ The absurd situation conjured up images of Peter Pan Harry had seen in picture books, those colourful drawings of wonderful, magical, innocent fun were always a childhood favourite.

Tom's smile broadened as he inspected Harry.

"Did you miss me, Harry, hmmm?" Tom smirked, as he tilted Harry's face toward him.

Harry stared at him blankly.

"Ah, off course, you did," said Tom. "First of all, I would like to apologize for my abrupt departure... and I hope it didn't concern you too much. It's just... little Draco here offered me an opportunity that I could not refuse. "

"How—" Harry started, but couldn't seem to find the right words. "Why—"

"I'm afraid I don't speak in tongues." said Tom, still smiling broadly. "I've got to say, I thought your reaction would be more entertaining than this."

"How did Draco get like this?" Harry blurted out.

Tom ignored his question, and he tightened his grip on Harry's face.

The pain monetarily jolted some sense back into Harry. Harry tried to free himself. He pushed back at Tom, ready to punch the boy, before a pulse of magic shot through him like electricity. Harry gasped in pain and dropped his hands instantly.

"Now, that's more like it," murmured Tom. "_Be a good boy. Stay still_."

He leaned in close to inspect Harry's face. His breath felt hot and wet against Harry's cheek.

In the proximity, Harry saw Draco's crystal-blue eyes were glowing bright crimson, a distinct redness that was identical to the red-eyes in Harry's nightmare. Harry trembled as the memory of that day flooded him, almost drowning him in the redness. He remembered the petrifying feeling of facing death... And how shamefully he responded, how his body succumbed to fear, betraying him, and rendering him powerless as worlds shattered around him.

So Harry stood his ground. His green eyes met Tom's glaze fiercely.

_Powerless or not. He is no coward._ He swore it that day he will never, ever, let fear defeat him.

_James and Lily Potter's son is no coward._

Tom's hand moved greedily across his face. The long fingers wondered toward his eyes.

"Oh yes, they are very green, indeed," said Tom, to no one in particular. "The Malfoy Squib did say so... the colour of jade... No, I think they are a shade darker than jade. Hm, perhaps the colour of the killing curse...No, that's not right either—"

Tom smirked. His hand now moved to Harry's hair. Pale fingers threaded through wild tangle of black curls, pulling back and forcing Harry to turn his head, positioning him in a way that he couldn't see Tom's face.

Harry snarled in response.

"Is it curious how people never learn to appreciate what they had until it is gone?" whispered Tom into Harry's ear, soothingly and intimately, hot breath on his skin.

"The simplistic brilliance of colour, the warm texture of skin, the unbearably hot days of summer that burn like sauna... These are things — things of the world — that I couldn't believe I've forgot... Things that, in my younger and foolish days, never held any _significance_ to me."

"It's been _fifty years_ since I've seen colour, Harry Potter, _fifty years_ since I've held another. The world inside the dairy was all wash-out in ink and blankness... and dark magic, off course. I've been nothing but a consciousness, a memory, drifting in a sea of words, living — or so I thought I was living — amongst abstract ideas and written ambitions... That world, _my world_, I eventually realized, was nothing. _Nothing_... But emptiness surrounding me. I was immortal and eternal and _everything_ I always wanted, and in the end, I was miserable..."

"_Fifty years!_ Fifty years is too long to spend with anyone, especially yourself—"

Tom continued to stroke Harry's hair absent-mindedly. Harry couldn't see Tom's face from the angle he was being held, and he couldn't comprehend what Tom was telling him.

_More lies, perhaps?_

"It has been so long that I forgot what it was like to be alive." Tom continued, "I forgot the sensations, the needs, the ambitions, the desires... _Everything_... I was unsatisfied, you see, Harry. But I couldn't figure out why? Why was I missing being human? I never cared for silly human sediments and I _never_ desired them. I knew I was missing something, but what—"

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

The added heat from the other boy's body made him sweat like crazy. Harry tried to move away, but Tom's grip was unyielding. With one hand pulling at Harry's hair, Tom's other hand moved toward his exposed throat. For a moment, Harry thought Tom was going to strangle him, but, instead, Tom pressed gently against Harry's jugular, feeling the pulse quicken beneath warm skin.

"I didn't understand. I couldn't— until the day _you_ showed up," said Tom quietly. "Your magic woke me. Faint light magic at first —and it confused me, because I couldn't believe _he'd_ let the dairy fall into the hands of a light wizard, so I stayed silent— until I felt it again, your magic seeped into me, and then I felt your anger, a powerful thing tinged with darkness. It fascinated me."

"So I wrote to you. We talked, for... I believe... over two months, didn't we? You told me about all your worries and fears— everything— how you missed your mother, how you couldn't sleep at night, how you loathed Lucius and Barty and Bellatrix and Pettigrew and, off course, _him_...Didn't you tell me everything, _Harry_? "*

Tom laughed, a high, chilling laugh that didn't suit him. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry's neck.*

"It's all very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of a nine-year-old boy. But I _was_ patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. You simply _loved_ me. Didn't you, Harry?"*

"No," Harry whispered.

Something inside him broke.

"Oh, yes," Tom whispered, mockingly. "_I can't trust anyone but you, Tom... I'm so glad I've got you to teach me, because you are simply brilliant, Tom...It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket... _" *

Tom laughed his high laugh again. Harry went completely still.

"Let this be a lesson to you, my friend. Never trust anything in this world, especially something that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain. Off course, don't be too hard on yourself. I've always been able to charm the people I needed... if I do say so myself. So as you poured out your soul to me, I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of your magic, your emotions, your... secrets."*

Harry's fists clenched, the nails digging deep into his palms. An over-whelming rage jolted him, displacing his internal turmoil and panic. Harry bit his lips hard. He couldn't let Tom see how much this is affecting him.

Harry focused on his rage.

_Rage is a good emotion; it is much less painful than betrayal_.

"And I continued to grow... more and more..." said Tom." I became more concrete, more powerful. Then, one day, you came to me, in the memory, and I saw your face. Your _eyes_—they ...they were _coloured_. A flicker of green. I couldn't believe it! _Green_. The colour of vitality. _Green_ that I haven't seen in fifty year..."

"Suddenly it hit me. What I am missing... what I am yearning for is— is the real world. The living world, of colour and of solid materials. Seeing you made me realize that I need to return to the land of the living."

Tom wiped a sweat from Harry's cheek. The gentleness of the other's touch startled Harry. He frowned.

_Why was Tom telling him this?_

_Lies, more lies, _Harry told himself firmly_, he is not your friend. You don't need friends._

"_Harry Potter,"_ said Tom softly.

He went on.

"You fascinate me... See, at first, I thought you are just a skinny boy with a bit of magical talent. But, soon, I realized you and I are _similar_... and that is why you were fated to find my diary. Both our lives are not easy, but we have the power to fight back. You might be born a light wizard, Harry, but I sense a darkness in you, a darkness that is so delightful... and that is just what I need."

"You remind me of what used to define me, what drove me... _My ambitions_. My ambitions are what gave my life purpose. And now I have them back. I want what Voldemort has— _real_ power, and the world bowing at my feet. _At my feet_. Not his. _But mine_."

Tom's fingers dug into Harry's skin, holding him tight. His voice sounded eager, in that childish, excited way Draco used to gash about Hogwarts.

"I am going to take it from _him_," Tom hissed excitedly. "I will take everything from him, and that will fulfill me at last. I deserve it all. I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, are born to greatness. I'm the Slytherin heir. I am no servant. I will not bow to anyone... Not even to _him_. Listen, Harry, I will fashion myself a new identity, a identity that wizards everywhere would one day revere more than him, when I— _and I alone_— has become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"*

"I've been thinking about how to define my identity, as separate from Voldemort. And I have come to the conclusion, and you inspired me on this, the only way to define me... is to kill him. I have resolved to do that—wouldn't that make you happy, my dear?— and then I will be ready to take over the throne."

Tom stepped back, finally releasing Harry from his grasp. His red-eyes stayed on Harry face, searching hungrily, expectedly, as if he thought Harry should clap for his magnificent monologue.

"Well, that was fascinating," Harry spat vehemently. "Congratulations on your epiphany. But what do you want from _me_, Tom?"

"That is an interesting question. I want what all man wants — wealth, power, prestige— I want it _all_. But, at this moment, right now, Harry, what I want—"

Tom smirked. The hungry look grew in his eyes, making the redness seem brighter, bloodier.

"— is you."

* * *

Harry dragged his limp leg across the Quidditch Pitch, cursing under his breath. He still hadn't found a counter-curse to the burns. The pain came in waves, sapping the energy out of him. But he still had to fly, and he _had_ to win.

The match with Gryffindor didn't wait for anyone.

Harry shot a glance toward the observation towers. Students filled all four towers to the brim, a vivacious excitement vibrating among them. There were scatters of red-and-gold, but most of the crowd was decked out in green-and-sliver. It was an unspoken rule in Hogwarts, that Slytherin was always the right choice, the _only_ choice, because it was the Dark Lord's choice. And, whether you like it or not, the Dark Lord was always right.

Everyone knows there is no free choice in New Britain, not even in sport fandom.

Harry found Snape's dark form in the front row of the teacher's area. The man never comes to games. There was no question he was here to spy on Harry. After their little _incident_ last night, Snape had let Harry go with one month worth of detentions. (Luckily, he didn't dock points from Slytherin, but Harry supposed that Snape would rather gnaw his own leg off before docking point from his beloved Slytherin.)

But Harry knew his trouble was far from over. The Headmaster will be out of his blood now, so he can't make any mistake, especially he can't allow Snape to see he is hurt.

The tattoo on his back pulsed once; Harry turned toward the opposite tower and saw Tom staring at him. Tom was sitting with his usual group of posses and admirers. Although Harry can't see Tom's face from the distance, he knew the spirit was annoyed with him.

Harry didn't have a chance to speak to Tom yet. Between their social popularities, it was hard to find a moment to be alone. In Hogwarts, the walls have ears. Literally, those Portraits gossiped like no other, because what else are they suppose to do with all that free time. So they must be extra cautious, always. Besides, Harry wanted a moment to gather his thought, prior to willingly subject himself to Tom's interrogations. He needed to, somehow, explain his utterly stupid decision on taking two Aurors by himself—

_Marcus, oh shit. _

He can't think about the dead Auror now.

He didn't have time for guilt or emotional break-down.

Harry caressed his brand new Firebolt Light gently. Flying would help; the liberating experience of soaring amongst the wind was always calming for him.

Harry gestured for his team to form a huddle.

"Alrighty. Slytherins! Get ready, our moment is here." Harry said to his team. "Remember the plan. Who has the most important position on their team?"

"The keeper," they replied in unison.

"Right, so take out their keeper first. Use the Triangle. Theodore, you bait. Blaise and Millicent, you trap. Crabbe and Goyle, you execute. Got it?" Harry pointed to each of the player in turn.

They nodded.

"Good. Let's destroy them like we did last year." Harry grinned. "READY? SLYTHERIN—"

"VICTORIOUS!" shouted the entire team as they held up their brooms together.

They took their positions in the middle of the pitch, standing in a straight line across from the Gryffindor team.

"Hey, Malfoy!" Ronald Weasley, the Gryffindor captain, shouted at Harry. "Why are you walking funny? This ain't no ballet show."

Some of the Gryffindor laughed. Ginny Weasley, the new Gryffindor seeker, did not.

Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Crabbe, Goyle. Aim for his head," Harry ordered firmly, pointing a finger in Ronald's direction.

The two beaters grunted in agreement.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on his silver whistle. The crowd roared raucously.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.*

Harry circled above the zooming players and pelting Bludgers, watching the proceeding like a hawk. His eyes searched for the gold of the Snitch, and occasionally, he barked out instructions to his team. Harry gliding in the air, graceful like an expert predator. The cold current beat against his face, but he felt good. Confident. Calm.

Then, the pain started. His leg was on fire. He griped the broom tightly, and hissed in anger. The momentary distraction almost proved to be fatal, as he barely dodged a Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head. In the rush, Harry's broom lurched forward; the momentum almost threw him off. The pain was clouding his mind.

_What was he doing again?_

"You okay, Cap?" shouted Theodore as the boy zoomed past him.

"Fine. Stay on your pass—" Harry started yelling at his Chaser, but suddenly he changed direction and dove straight toward the ground. In a blur of green, Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet. The crowds grasped and screamed in confusion.

The ground became closer and closer. The world faded away, until he was just meters from hard soil, Harry shifted all his weight toward the back and pulled up abruptly.

The crowd gasped as he hit the ground. The Firebolt Light rolled away, but Harry landed on his feet. There was a moment of silence. Then, Harry wobbled up, his right arm raised above his hand, the golden Snitch clasped in his fist. He grinned triumphantly.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly. *

"FIVE MINUTES TO CATCH! FIVE MINUTES!" shouted the announcer on top of his lungs, although the crowd's thunderous cheers almost drowned him out.

"A record for the ages— What a game! What a game! WHAT A GAME! And what a way to begin the season, boys and girls!— SLYTHERIN WINS!"

Streams of students rushed onto the field, his teammates landed beside him; screaming, cheering, they swarmed him and all tried to congratulate him at once. The noise was deafening. The pain was killing him and Harry couldn't think straight.

Harry pushed against them, but he couldn't find a way through. Harry's head felt light. Faintly, he could make out Snape's black robe walking toward them. Then he panicked. He was ready to curse them, when, suddenly, a hand grabbed him and tugged him free.

Tom's posses formed a security line and allowed them to escape. Tom held onto Harry's hands firmly. He walked fast and brought Harry to the edge of the Black Forest, where they are alone, away from the noise.

The Ouroboros tattoo turned warm at Tom's touch. The other's magic seeped through their soul bond, and Harry grimaced when he felt the hot anger.

"I'm sorry—" said Harry quickly, before Tom could open his mouth. "I meant to speak to you last night, but—"

"_**Are you daft?"**_ hissed Tom. His voice was calm, cold even, but his eyes were seething with red anger.

_**"Is it worth to break your neck over a silly little record, in a silly school-yard game? Have you no sense of self-preservation, Harry Potter? Do I need to lock you up, just to keep you alive—"**_

"WHAT?!" Harry blinked in confusion. "Oh, THAT?... That was nothing. That's just a variation of the Wronski Feint. Don't worry about it. I've done it _many_ times before."

Tom gave him a scalding look, but decided to back off. _For now._

"Look, we don't have much time," Harry continued hurriedly. "Snape is looking for me. He is suspicious. And...he knew I sustained an injury somehow, and maybe—" Harry swallowed. The truth was too terrifying to even contemplate.

"Maybe he knows..."

"Oh, he knows something alright," replied Tom. "But I don't think he knows about _our little secret_, not yet anyways. After all, he has no reason not to report you to Ministry the moment he suspects anything. I think he's just fishing. It is important to maintain your composure in these situations."

"What's wrong with your leg?" asked Tom, as he regarded Harry's posture suspiciously.

"Hm? OW! Watch it!" Harry yelped in pain, as Tom poked his wand at the cursed leg. "I tried the counter-curse already. It didn't work... I think I'll need a potion for this one. But, more urgently, what are we going to do about Snape?"

"What happened?" asked Tom, ignoring Harry's question pointedly. "You were... hurt?"

"_**Yes,"**_ Harry nodded, switching to Parseltongue for security reasons. _**"Fire curse. There were two Aurors there, and I took care of them."**_

Harry was surprised when Tom hooked his arms around his wrist to steady him. His leg did feel better by shifting his weight to the other side, so Harry leaned into Tom and hoisted his arm across the other's shoulder.

"**Aurors?"**

**"Yes, two,"** murmured Harry. **"Three dead, including Pettigrew."**

_**"How?"**_

_**"You missed something on your intel. Pettigrew was being watched by the Ministry. House arrest, they said."**_

Harry was relieved to see the surprise flittering across Tom's face. So the spirit did _not_ know. _It wasn't a set-up._

"I—" Tom tightened his hold on Harry wrist, and he turned to look at Harry, a controlled regret swimming in those red-eyes. "I promise you I will get to the bottom of this. Someone will pay —_dearly_— for their grave mistake."

"Don't sweat it," answered Harry. "Just make sure it doesn't happen again. More importantly, _what_ are we going to do about Snape?"

Tom pulled a canter from his pocket. He plucked a hair from Harry and dropped it into the potion. Then Tom took a large swag from the canter. And Tom's body began to change rapidly. His hair curled at the tip and turned darker; his pale skin turned tanned; and a faint, lighting-shaped scar appeared on his forehead.

Harry knew the Polyjuice Potion tasted—and felt— absolutely dreadful, so he was very impressed by Tom's stoicism throughout the change. Tom remained utterly still as his skin bubbled and stretched, as his bones lengthened and shortened; until, finally the transformation was complete.

Tom took Harry's glasses and plopped it on. The two boys stood side-by-side, the exact same height, same build, same messy, wild dark hair, completely indistinguishable from each other.

"Woah, twins!" Harry grasped in delight. "This is amazing. Can you do my potion NEWTS for me?"

Tom rolled his eyes and draped the Invisibility Cloak over Harry.

"I will deal with Snape. You go wait for me in the Room of Requirement. Go _straight_ there, understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Tom?" called Harry softly.

"Yes?"

"_Thank you.._. And can I ask you for one small favour?" said Harry, a bit hesitant.

Tom's eyes — which were Harry's eyes really— widened slightly, and he smiled, a slight twitch of his lips, but it was there.

"Yes?"

"Er, do you mind picking up my Firebolt?" Harry grinned sheepishly. "I seemed to left my baby behind in all the excitement—"

* * *

**Author's rambling:**

* Adapted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secret and from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

Special thanks to my reviewers. I truely value all your comments, criticism, what-ever :) Thank you at: **slytherin's daughter, Celestialuna, EMERALD69, phoebe turner, OldSkibbereen, Colette Hyuga, AtikahFiction, Gothicgirl12, sheetamoon, xDarklightx, Cupcak3. **


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